Hephaestion's Journal
by khepri2
Summary: Hephaestion has reached Ecbatana in the autumn of 324 B.C and has a strong premonition of his death. So he decides to write down his life with Alexander for himself and perhaps for future generations.
1. Chapter 1

**Hephaestion's Journal**

_**NOTE: **This is part of a novel I am attempting to write where the main character is a resurrected Ancient Egyptian – he meets many historical characters throughout his existence and some are also 'resurrected' including Alexander and Hephaestion. The Egyptian, in the novel, is working in a present day museum and they are sent Hephaestion's journal which is falling apart and difficult to read so he asks the man himself to come and translate it – hence modern idioms; the man's been about for two thousand years and language changes. The Isaac Brooke Museum and Dalchester are my own invention._

_I have tried to be as historically accurate as possible but have taken a few 'liberties'; such as Cassander being at Ecbatana – in all probability he never showed up until a few months before Alexander's own death in Babylon but I needed him to get there earlier and he obliged!  
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'I, Hephaestion Amyntoros, Chiliarch of the divine Alexandros, write this…great…king………I have such a sense of foreboding, a shadow across my mind that grows………in what time I have…all that was……They will not give my love justice. He will become the myth……so I write to make sense of my life and his. Perhaps I will allow this writing to survive, perhaps not – let the gods decide.

_(From this point on it is Hephaestion's own translation of his memoirs, which are held, at present, by the Isaac Brooke Museum in Dalchester, England. He has updated the language for ease of understanding.)_

We arrived at Ecbatana mid morning. It was not my first visit to this summer palace of the Persian Kings but this time it struck me with a chill that seeped into my bones and very heart. Even during September the temperature here was still warm, certainly no reason for the cold creeping up my spine. Putting it down to exhaustion I ignored it as we rode in through the gates, handed the horses over to the grooms and made our way to our rooms. I saw Alexander comfortably settled with Bagoas in attendance, his breath coming in short, sharp exhalations – the old wound was giving him trouble again which was why Ptolemy and I had suggested this rest at Ecbatana – for the troops welfare of course, not his, else we would still be travelling. The King of Kings, of Macedon, Persia and India can be a real obstinate son of a bitch when he puts his mind to it.

My rooms were down one end of the same corridor as his, Ptolemy's at the opposite end so we had him covered in all directions. It allowed us to take turns at sitting on him if he decided to go to far – well, farther than either of his wives rooms at any rate. He was far too restless, always on the move even during a council session. I found it more and more exhausting as the years went by. Why is that?

Am I getting old? I have seen a little over thirty-four summers, not so old. My father is nearly seventy and as sprightly as a lad of eighteen. This tiredness has been on me since the desert march. I had hopes that a long pause at Ecbatana would instil some energy into me but now I doubt this. Why I see my doom here I cannot say but I believe the Fates will end my life's journey in this out of the way city, far away from my beloved homeland. Some would tell me to get a grip on my morbid fears and enjoy my recent promotion to Chiliarch and as Alexander's new brother; he wants me to have children with Drypetis so that they can then marry his own children with Stateira and found a new dynasty of our conjoined blood. He lives his dreams, his myth making. I am the peg hammered into reality to which he has tied himself so he can go on dreaming, knowing that I will pull him back down to reality if he goes too far.

But what if that peg is removed? What will happen to him if I die?

That thought alone makes me sweat with fear, not of my dying but of leaving him, here, alone with no one to protect him. Or am I, too, delusional? Do I also believe in 'our myth', that of the new Achilles and Patroclus, reborn as Alexander and Hephaestion, ready to conquer the world and die in glory? We made this a part of us when we honoured the tombs of the heroes at Troy when the army first landed in Asia, a public avowal of our love. We were both very serious about it, meant it all, believed it too. We were both very young.

The myth is true in one respect – this Patroclus will not live to a ripe old age. My only concern is that the 'new' Achilles will. He might do – he's planning a new campaign into Arabia for next year; he has a new wife and an old one to comfort him and give him the longed for heir, not to mention the eunuch. What need does he have for a tired, worn out boyhood friend such as me? And yet…

We are still lovers, after over twenty years, in all senses of that word, against all the odds; some would say the norms too. I have survived by his side despite hatred and enmity from colleagues, his mother, his other lovers and certainly one of his wives, not to mention the damn eunuch. Why is that? Our relationship has not been smooth – we argue, we fall out; we have even come to physical blows at times. He has said cruel and painful things to me and I have returned the compliment in full measure. Each time my enemies have watched with joy, hope shining in their eyes that, finally, the 'favourite' will be, at worst, packed off into exile, at best put to death. And then we make up and shatter all their hopes. It is worth arguing with him just to see that! At times I swear he feels the same; I see the small smile curling his lips at their evident disappointment and we share a glance that says it all.

Perhaps it's that side of our combined nature the others loath so much, our separateness from them. For we do understand one another completely; words are not necessary between us, even when we disagree – we have silent arguments, eyes locked on each other, saying it all. I need no one but Alexander. Oh, I have friends amongst the Companions – or did till I was made Chiliarch – Ptolemy, Perdiccas and Nearchus. But we are more allies than bosom friends; the wolf pack following the alpha male and each fighting to obtain a higher place in the pack hierarchy. Now he has made me so undeniably the beta male, the rest are keeping their distance, waiting for a chance to pull me down.

Fools! Cannot they see? After all these years I am still by his side. Cannot they see I will never fall? Except to death. Yes, Thanatos may very will prove their greatest ally against me.

"Phaestion?" came a voice like no other to me, one I can hear whisper across a crowded room or a bloody battlefield.

"I thought you were resting – my King." I reply in only a half admonitory tone.

"Don't coddle me, man." He eases down in the chair opposite me, the pain evident in every movement. "I've been thinking…"

"Oh dear."

"Stop that!"

"Stop what?"

"Making assumptions that I have something impossible in mind."

I couldn't help but laugh at that.

"Xander – you have conquered most of the known world, almost reached the Outer Ocean – stop growling – and now plans to invade the other half of the world. Why on earth would I ever think you could come up with anything that is impossible for you to accomplish?"

Dark grey eyes stare into mine unblinking and silence falls between us.

"Well?" I prompt him after the silence has gone on forever.

"Sorry – I was trying to figure out what you just said and whether it made sense."

"Very funny. You're tired. Go to bed, Alexander."

"I thought you'd never ask." He replied, eyes twinkling.

"You said you had been thinking about something?" divert his attention that usually worked in moments like these.

"The men – I think they would like some games, don't you? Proper ones this time. Full competitions and good prizes. We'll bring in all the best performers from every part of the empire. What do you think?"

It was an idea that would certainly work. So typical of the man to think of this for the army. He still blamed himself for the debacle in the Gedrosian desert and this was a way to ease his conscience a little. Besides, we would all enjoy seeing some good acting and competitive games were the next best thing to keep soldiers from beating the crap out of each other or the locals when they were in camp and getting bored.

"Excellent idea. I will set the arrangements in motion tomorrow. Eumenes can send to Athens as he has so many good friends there. The men need the change – so do you."

"Get me back to my Greek roots you mean?"

"No, I do not."

"Many will see it that way."

"Then let them. We both know it's not the case. You are Great King of an empire of many cultures and creeds; you cannot be seen to favour one over the other – except for me, of course."

The Great King laughed at that bit of undisguised vanity on my part. Did not make it any less the truth.

"Ah, but you are unique, my Phai. There is not another one like you – thank the gods!"

"You've just lost your invitation to stay the night, sire."

"I don't need an invite – I'm the King of all I survey," here he swept a hand about grandly, then dropped it into his lap, looking exhausted. His skin had a greyish tinge to it I did not like and his eyes were decidedly glassy.

"True, my love. Why don't you lie down on the bed whilst I get some wine?"

He nodded and followed my advice, laying down on the large bed with a sigh. I took my time getting the wine and when I walked over to him he was fast asleep, as I had hoped. Carefully I lay down beside him pulling him into my arms and covering us with the embroidered quilt. Hopefully we would both sleep without dreams for one night.

I was awoken the next morning after a pleasantly dreamless sleep to a knocking on my door. Alexander was still sound asleep so I carefully got out of bed and raced to the door to stop whoever it was out there from making anymore noise. Pulling it open I nearly received a broken nose from Ptolemy's fist aiming for a door no longer shut.

"Oh…" he said. "Bagoas is going crazy. Alexander is not…"

"In his room – he's here, fast asleep. And I would like him to stay that way for a while longer."

Ptolemy gave me a beatific grin as if I was the reincarnation of Hypnos, god of slumber, himself. "Well done!"

"Go call of the search party, please." He nodded and walked down the corridor at a swift rate. I saw him stopped by the eunuch, who gave me such a dirty look that my morning was cheered up no end. I put up with him for Alexander's sake but that did not mean I liked him any better.

Hunting out one of my pages I ordered hot water for a bath and breakfast with the strict order that if anyone made more noise than absolutely necessary they would be flogged – if they woke the king, I would have them crucified. They knew me well enough to know I meant what I said and moved about their tasks as quietly as I wished.

Having washed and dressed myself the sun was nearing mid-morning so I woke the king up.

"Breakfast?" I asked him. "Or do you prefer the bath first? The hot water is ready."

He sat up and then noticed the light from the window, reckoning the time. "You let me sleep too late."

"You needed it – so did I. Oh, yes, Bagoas' is having a fit so I left him to Ptolemy to sort out. Didn't you say where you were going before coming here last night?"

"No – why should I? It's my palace after all. Where's this bath?"

It took another hour before I finally saw him off to his own room looking rested and much better than he had the previous night. I could now get on with my own work.

Tracking down Eumenes I gave him the instructions for setting up the games and entrance competitions in as cheery a voice as I could manage watching his scowl deepen by the minute. Since I had been made Chiliarch he answered to me directly instead of Alexander and he hated it. He had enjoyed the sense of power and direct access it had given him. I returned his feelings in full measure but had to acknowledge the man was excellent at his job, a born linguist and able to make words an art form. I on the other hand can be as diplomatic as you want face to face but get bored with the need for excessive and convoluted phrases so necessary in diplomatic correspondence; I could say in five words of speech what it took Eumenes a whole scroll to put in the appropriate language.

I put it down to upbringing. Eumenes was born and raised in Athens, coming to King Philip's service late. My family moved from Athens when I was barely walking and so I was educated as a Macedonian; you called a spade a spade or got your head kicked in.

Having sorted out the King's wishes to my immediate satisfaction I spent another three hours going over the supplies inventory with my other staff and arranging for more to be sent from various depots I had set up about the empire. This went smoothly enough as the bulk of the Macedonian veterans had already left with Craterus in the early summer to go home. Alexander took the opportunity this presented to him to remove the final diehards and entrenched 'traditionalists' of the Greek way of doing things to where they wanted to be, namely Macedon. It gave him the chance to promote like-minded officers to his staff and give higher honours to such as Ptolemy and Perdiccas who had shown their loyalty and acceptance of his new idea of integration. Whether we actually agreed with him on this was something none of us ever mentioned – that was a secret that could never be let known.

Did I agree with treating Persians the same as Macedonians? I have given hours of thought to that question and believe the answer to be – yes, within reason. They certainly knew the country and are, logically, the best people to use to run it. Macedonians can be pig-headed to a fault and would never understand fully the language, laws or customs of the people of our new empire, thereby causing offence and giving reason for revolt. Witness the outrage at the treatment meted out to Bessus, the murderer of Darius. Alexander dealt with him under the laws of Persia, as was fitting for the King of Kings, as he had become. He was no mere mercenary, not here for the plunder alone and then leave. Alexander had always meant to stay and that was the crux of his misunderstanding with the likes of Parmenion and Cleitus – all they saw was what Philip had planned to do; give the Great King a bloody nose, take as much loot as they could then go home to Macedon and live happily ever after bullying the rest of Greece. They got the shock of their lives when their young king made it clear he intended no such thing.

Did they blame him? No, not at first. That honour fell to me. First they tried using me to dissuade him. When that didn't work, they decided to blame me for it all. After it became clear that it was Alexander, and he alone, who dreamt of total conquest, they plotted to kill him – assassinating the king is an old Macedonian blood sport.

We have been here over seven days and the troops are now beginning to relax – which means they are drunk most of the time. It is only a matter of time before the fights begin so I have increased the duty roster's and doubled the guard points, arranged for additional scouting parties for supplies (using the upcoming games and increase in numbers as an excuse) and re-organised the training sessions for the pages – all so the amount of time is reduced where they can get into trouble. I sometimes feel being Chiliarch means I am no more than the head of a school with particularly rowdy pupils and the only way to control them is to keep them active or so tired all they want to do is sleep.

"Everyone seems very busy all of a sudden." Alexander mentioned to me tonight as we sat together at a banquet held for the Governor of the province.

"Good."

"You arranged it I hear?"

"Yes."

"A lot of the Generals are not so happy."

"Would they prefer their men to be on charges for rape or murder then? Because that is what would happen if I had let them go on drinking none stop."

He smiled at me before taking a long drink from his own wine before answering. "That is what I told them too."

"Then why ask?"

"You're in a pleasant mood tonight. Have you been arguing with Eumenes again?"

Rolling your eyes at your King is probably disrespectful but I did it anyway.

"No! Well, no more than usual. We have a nice, safe, mutual hatred going on between us – it's controlled, sire."

"Then what's up your ass, Chiliarch?" It was amazing how 'Macedonian' my King could suddenly become.

"Besides you?" I retorted, trying to deflect this conversation. He ignored it and glared at me; I had seen that very look once in the equally grey eyes of a mountain lion I was hunting – or was it the other way round? There was little difference.

I looked across the dining hall to the reason for my 'temper' and found him staring back at me. Cassander, son of Antipater, soon to be ex-regent of Macedon. Alexander had decided to give the old man a rest from his arduous duties (or his mother, Olympias, I'm not sure which) and re-called him to Asia as soon as Craterus reached home to replace him. The eldest son's arrival here at Ecbatana, yesterday, was unforeseen and had nearly given me a fit. I have not been off guard since. If anyone will make an attempt against my Alexander, it is him.

The day he arrived I had woken up feeling tense and irritable. I put that down to the late night and having to watch the eunuch doing his dance routine and watching my lover's eyes glaze over with lust and not trying to hide it. This occurrence was nothing new but for some reason that night it made me mad that he showed no control before others. So I went off to bed in a temper and woke up in one. After snarling and snapping at every one of my pages and servants they finally got me fed, dressed and out of their collective hair only for me to look down from a balcony I was passing and stare straight into Cassender's eyes looking back at me as he dismounted in the courtyard below.

"Shit!" I swore as loud as I could, not caring who heard me, and stormed on my way to see Alexander.

The guards on the King's door took one look at my face as I bore down on them that they had already opened it before I reached them. Bagoas was supervising the readiness of the king's bath and looked at me with surprise as I snapped fingers at him and the servants and bellowed 'OUT!' Normally I was civility itself – cold but still pleasant – but this was not a normal day.

Alexander sat up when I yelled, looking disgustingly fresh considering the amount he had had to drink the night before. (I once sneaked a look at Aristobulus's journal he keeps and his vision of the king sitting over his wine just to talk and rarely drink it had me chuckling for days every time I saw him, to the man's consternation.)

"Do you know who's just ridden in?" I screeched, pacing up and down in a fury.

"No." he replied calmly without adding 'how could I, you idiot, I'm still in bed.' His restraint is amazing at times.

"Cassander! Why is he here? Did you send for him and not tell me?"

"Phaistion – sit down – NOW!"

I dropped on the bed next to him, as it was the nearest piece of furniture to where I was pacing.

"Calm down. I never sent for him – why would I?"

"Did Craterus send word of his coming? Why he's still stuck in Cilicea is beyond me. It does not take that long to get to the Hellespont."

"I told him to take it in easy stages, to rest the men…"

I glared at him. "There is such a thing as taking it too easy."

"Why are you so suspicious all of a sudden? I thought that was my role." His lips quirked into a self-mocking smile.

It was a good question. Since the Pages Plot and Callisthenes execution, not to mention two mutiny's, he had been painfully aware that not everyone loved him as they had used to do when a young prince and new king. To say he was becoming paranoid is excessive but he trusted less, even those he knew well (look how he was deceived in Harpolas) and was quicker to think the worse than he had been. Usually it was I who calmed his fears over people's actions that he thought suspicious. Now our roles were to be reversed it seemed.

I had known Cassander since I joined the Prince's school at Meiza along with the sons of many of Philip's Companions – it was an honour that they all fought for. To put their sons with the Prince from such an early age ensured that they would be amongst the group from which he would choose his own generals and advisers once king, as Philip had with Parmenion and Antipater.

My father was slightly different than most Macedonian nobles. He and my mother were Athenians and had left there when I could barely walk. We had settled at Pella and he had fought in Philip's army earning distinction, a generalship and wealth. Though all this put the family within the elite class we were still considered outsiders by the likes of Philotas, Cassander and Craterus – or should I say, more truthfully, I was so considered.

Though Philip had made my father a Companion he was never as close to the king as Parmenion or Antipater, two Macedonians of impeccable lineage. I was different; and it was this difference that made Cassander and I hate each other almost from first sight. To be fair he was not alone in this. Philotas, though at least ten years older than Alexander was sent to 'school', (along with Ptolemy who was of the same age) and he strongly believed he had a 'right' to be the Prince's best friend. For this he was in rivalry with Cassander and Perdiccas, a boy in my own age group but who was Orestian royalty, cousin to Alexander and Craterus – pure Macedonian.

Why was it so important to be first with the Prince? Power. To have the king's ear was to be in control to a degree; it gave you access to wealth and honours and the respect (oft times grudgingly given) of your peers – or that was the theory! In practise, as I found, it earned you little but enmity and jealousy. This could, of course, be of use to the king – Philip was a master at playing one noble against the other; in this way he kept their loyalty, undivided attention and their best work as they tried to prove they were better than the others. But sometimes it could back fire disastrously for the king and he ended up with plots against him or even being assassinated – as Philip was.

That Alexander seemed to choose a foreigner, an outsider, an almost nobody to place in this powerful position was anathema to Philotas and Cassander. They only saw what they wanted, not what was there.

At thirteen I was thrown into the cut and thrust of a court – which was what Meiza was in fact. Yes, we were being educated with tutors, Aristotle among them; but the main purpose behind the school was to educate the next generation to be the king and his advisers. One thing you needed to learn very quickly was how to survive and keep whatever place you managed to gain by merit, cunning or violence. It was not a place for someone of a delicate conscience or constitution! Fortunately, I had neither.

I am sure we had all been grilled by our respective fathers in the same mantra.

Make friends with the Prince

Do not at any cost antagonise him

Keep an eye on all the other students

Watch your back

Survive

It was not the first time I had met the Prince. My father was always at the palace and oft times I was taken along to see and be seen – occasionally I was allowed to play with his august smallness but if people thought he was arrogant when king it was nothing to how he behaved when five years old! The play always ended with us in a fight and as I was bigger and decidedly belligerent I won every time. Well, at least on the two occasions on which it happened – after that my father kept me away from the Prince. Neither of us objected.

Then he 'tamed' Bucephalus at the horse fair. I was grudging in my admiration for this feat mainly due to jealousy – the horse was magnificent. What I also saw at that time was how much alike the two were. Alexander had filled out since I had last seen him and was even more confident if that were possible. He knew who he was and what he was – so did the horse; neither was of the common mould and knew it. It made them both bull headed and difficult to manage when they got the bit between their teeth. You either gave them their head and let them go; ignored them or fought them to a standstill. I learnt to do all three exceptionally well.

Did I want to go to Meiza? Yes and no. To be taught by the best and especially Aristotle was not something to avoid. However, the idea of making myself friend to the Prince was not high on my possible accomplishments – we didn't like each other. My father merely rolled his eyes and told me to grow up.

I arrived at Meiza with Leonnatus and Nearchus, two boys I knew well as we had all grown up in Pella and, like me Nearchus was a 'foreigner' – in his case Cretan. It made us feel more confident that we had people around who we knew in this new stage of our lives. None of us were that familiar with the Prince as he spent most of his time with older friends, such as Philotas and Ptolemy, rather than boys of his own age – he seemed to find anyone his age a personal insult that he was not unique in this area. There were also rumours going about Pella that he spent far too much time with the soldiers as well but my father had laughed that off when I repeated it to him, saying if I had Alexander's mother I would go anywhere to get away from her. At that time I didn't understand what he meant.

We entered the grounds and headed for the sprawling hunting palace; made up of a great hall and sleeping dormitories, with servants quarters behind, it had been set aside by the King, the gardens stocked with every flower and shrub the slaves could find to make our surroundings conducive to learning. I thought it was beautiful but said nothing to my companions in case they laughed. But Nearchus breathed in the heavy perfume about us "Beautiful!" he said and gave us both a huge grin.

"What are you smiling at Athenian?"

The voice was rough, sarcastic and challenging. I looked at the boy. About my own height, with the same dark hair but with amber eyes instead of my blue ones, Cassander was before us in a standing lounge, if I can so describe it. Hatred was oozing out of his pores as I slid off my horse, handing the reins to a groom, and faced off with him.

"I am here because King Philip asked me to be. That should be obvious to anyone, even an idiot."

His nostrils flared at that but the simper was not gone from his lips, as he looked Nearchus up and down like so much bad meat. "And a Cretan! Truly, the King wants the school to be multi-national."

I cocked my head and smiled at him in a sneer. "Do you actually know what that means, Cassander, son of Antipater? Or are you merely repeating something you heard like a good little schoolboy?"

"Hephaestion, don't!" Leonnatus warned, trying to pull me away by my arm. I turned for a second to shake him off and suddenly found the wind knocked out of me as Cassander head butted me in the stomach and I hit the ground hard.

I was surprised only for a fraction of a second and then we really started to fight, pummelling, kicking and biting in every move our wrestling tutors had taught us and a few they hadn't. The noise naturally attracted others and we were soon surrounded by quite a crowd of spectators – none trying to break up the fight but egging us both on. That's Macedon for you.

Cassander had gotten in a nasty punch, which was making my nosebleed so much the blood was getting into my mouth. Seeing that he leaned back and smiled in triumph, which was when I grabbed his balls and yanked upwards as hard as I could. That took the smile off his face. He howled in agony and I gave them one last vicious twist for good measure – then he passed out.

I was short of breath, bleeding everywhere and my ears were ringing where he had punched me in the side of the head. My chiton was ripped and covered in blood and my head hurt where he had pulled out a chunk of my hair by the roots. But I felt I was walking on air. All around me the boys were cheering – I had won in a 'fair' fight and showed I was as good a scrapper as any of them – they respected that. I had also fulfilled one of my father's instructions:

"Make sure they know what you're made of, son. Then they will be wary of you – that will keep you safe."

I could safely feel I had succeeded in that.

What surprised me the most though was when I turned to go into the palace and clean up. Inside the door I was stopped by the Prince himself who took my arm and led me through to a washroom. I was astonished by this and not a little wary. He seemed to sense my unease and explained.

"I don't like Cassander. I can't show that openly or he'll complain to his father and then he'll complain to the King and then I'll get a letter as long as my arm explaining how I have failed in 'kingmanship'. But it doesn't stop me from saying so to you in private that I was VERY impressed with how you handled yourself – and the amount of pain you inflicted on him!"

His honesty was disarming and I had to laugh – he joined in. That was when I realised I might find this idea of school pleasanter than I first thought. If I could get on the right side of the Prince simply by beating up Cassander at every opportunity Antipater's son would be in continuous pain.

Of course nothing in life is ever that simple.

TBC - if anyone wants it to of course


	2. Chapter 2

A/N Dedicated to Moon71 and Suetimeless for inspiring me with their wonderful stories to try my hand at one. Thanks. Reviews gratefully received so I learn from mistakes!

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Chapter Two

My friendship with Alexander grew at a steady pace but inexorably. We shared a trait then, the ability to size up an individual or opponent with unnerving accuracy. I realised there was more to the boy than arrogance and he saw I was not overly impressed with his 'royal' status.

That was the fault of my parents in fact – they had told me enough about the democracy of Athens and how there a man was judged by what he did, not who he was; that as long as I was true to myself, worked to my best ability and did nothing to dishonour either myself or family, I was as good as anyone. This did not help to instil a sense of awe towards royalty that they expected. It was only later that I found out that Athens was as hierarchical and class obsessed as Macedon with less reason. At least in this kingdom the King had to agree most things in council, he was neither a tyrant nor a despot.

My attitude in this, naturally, was one other reason for Cassander to belittle me every chance he could. Most times I ignored him and concentrated on my studies, not to look good but because I enjoyed the intellectual challenge they represented – I was there to learn after all. I was not alone in this as both Alexander and Ptolemy shared my enthusiasm – but they were Macedonians and royalty (if rumours of Ptolemy's parentage were to be believed) so it was understood they could not be abused for it. However, I could be and was.

The tutors broke up any serious fights but were aware that they could not control us all the time. As to the guards put there for the Prince's security they didn't care as long as he was not hurt – the rest of us could get as many black eyes and broken ribs as we could take. After three months they were a little more wary because the Prince often took my side against Cassander and Philotas (though Ptolemy usually handled him). To make it less like favouritism he also supported Leonnatus and Nearchus when they came in for their share of the fights, but Cassander mainly aimed at me.

Alexander and I had become inseparable. Perhaps it was our differences that lent our friendship a special quality; more likely it was our shared love of Homer and horses and baiting Cassander. I never lied to him, not even then, nor did I ever tell him something he wanted to hear if it was, in my opinion, wrong and would lead him to make an error of judgement. This was always said in private, never before others; he was the Prince and in due time King – to argue with him in public was not only disrespectful but also damaging to the discipline so necessary within a military environment. In effect he was our commanding officer and I never forgot that – in public.

To the others, I have to admit, it would look like I was a fawning 'yes-man', and Alexander's to the core with no ideas in my head except the ones he planted there. When does loyalty become sycophancy? It took me by surprise that I fell in love with him; I was not looking for a friendship that deep but the gods had other ideas – I genuinely believe we were destined for each other, as does Alexander. We have discussed this many times and, even now in our 'old age', we do not doubt it. Our dreams have become reality and, so, far darker than we had imagined. Dreams do not take account of people's lives and feelings, things boys never consider anyway.

To say Alexander's parents took the news of our burgeoning love with equanimity would be a lie. His mother was furious; she would brook no other being close to her son, not even his own father and certainly not a mere boy! She had one consolation at least – if I had been a girl she would have had a definite rival; as far as Olympias was concerned her son's 'infatuation' with me was only acceptable as it seemed to denote that Alexander would not be taking an older man as a lover as was the norm. His father did not see it that way, nor did the father's of some of the younger men now of an age to take a young boy as _eromenos_. I have always had my suspicions that Philip had asked Cleitus to take the position of _erastes_ to his son; that it never happened may have been a reason why the Black became so derisory of Alexander – if he had trained him, so his thinking would have gone, he would have made a little duplicate of Philip and ensured the Prince was parted from his mother. So I stood in the way of his advancement too. We never liked each other but I did respect him as a soldier and he taught me many things, not the least of which was never to get Alexander angry when he was drunk with a spear near to hand! But that is another story.

When did we become lovers in the full sense? That was the summer we turned sixteen.

Alexander had been made Regent whilst his father was away besieging Byzantium. Some tribes in Thrace took the opportunity to rebel against a Macedonian hegemony only recently enforced by Philip. Instead of sending to the King, Alexander handed over the Regency to Antipater and took us, along with the remaining garrison troops, to put the rebellion down himself. That he succeeded surprised everyone – rebels, parents, court and me!

It was my first time in combat, but not his, and I was determined to act courageously, fight with honour and not puke with fear. Not only was Cassander watching me like a hawk but Alexander also; he had named me his Patroclus in all seriousness so I had a great deal to live up to. I could not and would not let him down, even if it killed me; I would try to stay alive of course.

Killing someone is not glorious – it's smelly, messy and disgusting. But the rush you get when in the midst of a battle, fighting for your survival is so overwhelming that I could see how some men get addicted to it. Alexander certainly was. He never saw around him the blood and agony whilst he was fighting – only afterwards did it truly hit him hard. After every battle he fought in he did a round of the medical tent and spoke to each of the wounded that were conscious, though he would usually be wounded himself. I learnt to do the same when I lead my own men – it gives a bond that can stretch but rarely break. He was genuinely concerned and upset about the pain they suffered but he would store that in a separate compartment of his brain when the next battle loomed and go in as impetuously as before.

I can live without battles truth be told but I've hardened to them now as all soldiers do or break. My first battle saw me kill three men, one of whom was trying to stab Alexander in the back. I didn't know where I was going I merely followed him; he had a knack of 'seeing' the whole battle in his mind even as he fought in it. I could never do that. As Craterus once said to me 'You're brave and can fight well, but you're a plodder when it comes to thinking out a plan of attack – you think too much.'

What pleased me most was seeing that Cassander wasn't doing any better that first battle than me, though he warmed to it later. I preferred to build or create and Alexander asked my opinion, even back then, when he founded his first Alexandria in the Thracian hills. Our respective roles in his army were set that summer in stone.

I got a small scratch on my leg, so I was blooded, but nothing that caused me trouble.

Alexander was jubilant, excited and so worked up I made sure his wine was not too watered to try and calm him down. It worked very well until I was awoken from a deep sleep by someone touching me in places only my nurse and my mother had done up to that point in my life. I realised quickly who it was by his unique scent and relaxed – somewhat.

"Alexander, what are you doing?" I whispered. My tent was small and very close to Ptolemy's.

"What do you think I'm doing…?"

"You shouldn't be …um…doing that!"

"Ssh…"

It was clumsy, embarrassing and highly enjoyable. We evidently made some noise as Ptolemy's concerned query to me the next day as to whether I could still sit my horse was followed by a grin and a wink that had me blushing for at least ten minutes. So much so that Alexander asked if I was unwell or fatigued from my exertions the previous day in front of everyone – Ptolemy threw back his head and howled and I snarled at my new lover in as good an impression of a wolf as I could muster whilst being bright red.

We got better at it once we returned to Meiza. Practise always makes perfect and we practised every day for six months, sometimes twice a day. The change in our relationship was noted by the tutors with resignation and the boys with either smutty jokes or shock. Alexander had, once again and as he would throughout his life, shown himself to be different from everyone else and to make rules, not follow them. Co-evals as we were did not have such a relationship – theoretically. Naturally it did happen, a lot, especially in Macedon where the strict parameters of Athens held little sway. If they had done so throughout Greece there would never have been a Sacred Band in Thebes. Naturally we were expected to marry and produce sons; but that would be later when we had matured. Except for the Prince – he would be expected to marry early and beget an heir.

Which is why both his mother and father did not look kindly on how our relationship was taking shape. Within weeks of our return to Meiza he received two letters on the subject of me. Obviously we had a spy in the camp but we had hardly been as circumspect as we learned to be in later years – after all, we were barely sixteen, hormone driven and newly awakened to the 'pleasures of the flesh.' Such is my excuse. In fact, we just enjoyed it too much.

Cassander did not and let me know it soon enough.

"So, Athenian, that is the way you intend to get power – by being the Prince's whore."

"Jealous?"

"Hardly! Who would want a boy…" "Well, he will be a man soon and a king thereafter…" 

"I knew you were only after him for what you could get!" he crowed.

"Think whatever you like Cassander – he knows the truth of it and you are not worthy to receive the explanation." And I stormed away, more angered at his words than I wanted him to see.

The day did not get any better as the next person I met was Aristotle who asked me to accompany him to his room in a grave manner that boded nothing good. Inside I was quietly informed that he thought my relationship with the Prince was 'a little premature and a mistake.' I said nothing but examined the top of his head – he was losing his hair I noted.

"Hephaestion, the King has asked me to send him a report on you. The Prince's mother has asked me to keep you apart…"

I looked him straight in the eye then and shook my head – whether I was saying no to him being able to part us or that I would never allow it I am still not sure to this day.

"The Prince has received letters today from his parents and I believe they both say the same thing. My report to Philip will be truthful but I will make no recommendations either way – to him or to you. Emotions are a tricky thing at best and when royalty is involved…well, I suggest you go home for awhile and talk to your father about this and your future."

"You're dismissing me from the school?" I paled in horror. My father would never forgive me. How would I survive the dishonour of this; how would I survive Cassander's look of triumph without killing him? At least then I would be executed and no longer a shame to my family. What of Alexander?

Here I knew I was up against his mother more than his father. The king wasn't averse to taking young men to his bed and probably believed we would grow out of it. But his mother – she knew her son better than Philip did; her instincts would tell her this was no infatuation that would die out by end of summer. What concerned me most was her sway over Alexander – if she used the right lever, she was the only one who could tear us apart.

"Have you finished your musing?" Aristotle asked patiently.

"Sorry, sir."

"Good. I have not said you are being dismissed, Hephaestion. I merely said you should take a holiday to see your family – and that is all anyone here will ever know about it."

My smile must have been brilliant as he held a hand up almost to shield his eyes and laughed then dismissed me.

I needed to find Alexander. I found Ptolemy instead.

"He's had some news and gone back to Pella immediately."

"Oh…"a sudden pain gripped my chest like a vice. "Did he say anything…?"

"He left you no message – I'm sorry." He laid a hand on my shoulder in a rough gesture of comfort. Ptolemy had always been one for girls and had never understood any relationship between men other than ordinary friendship but he accepted it in his friends.

"I –just needed- to tell him – I was also returning home. To see my parents. Haven't seen them since we were in Thrace really…"

"Naturally…"

I smiled in farewell then went to pack my things and get my horse. Inside the stables I noted the absence of Bucephalus and hurriedly threw the blanket over Aries back, then mounted. Pella was a fair distance away and I needed to get there before dark. Concentrating on that I ignored the hurt I was feeling at Alexander's actions as best I could. It was not easy.

It was sunset by the time I rode into the courtyard of my home, much to the surprise of my family. My mother was overjoyed and hastened to get the cook to make me something nice for the evening meal. Father looked at me, saw I was upset and nodded to me to follow him to his study. There I told me everything that had happened.

"He had letters today and left without even a word to me."

"He was in all likelihood upset and not thinking too clearly."

"It wouldn't have taken that long to let me know! No – this is finished. I'm sorry father, I know you wanted me to befriend him…"

"Yes, be his friend not bed him, Hephaestion. That I did not expect."

He went on to lecture me on the mores of Athens, again, and that I was of an age to either take an _erastes_ or be mad for girls. Apparently he had been approached by no less than five young men for the honour of courting me, all of which he had trouble facing when something of my relationship with the prince was noised abroad in Pella – mainly by the Queen's shrieks of horror, so I understand. Despite my worries I was intrigued enough to ask who they were, more out of surprise than vanity.

"Why ask that now?" he retorted. "You've made your choice clear."

"I – did not expect anyone to want…me."

He lifted my face up so I was looking straight at him. "Son, you have your mother's looks – surely you're aware of that? You aren't, are you? Astonishing!"

This last was said with a hint of pride. It was true, I had no notion of how I looked to others then; it was becoming clearer to me though.

At that point a courier arrived from the palace inviting my father to dinner that night – and to bring me too.

"Oh, dear." I heard him mutter to himself as he told the courier we would both be there. Mother was furious of course.

Having bathed and dressed in my best, a dark green chiton with embroidery at its edges, my mother combed and tied back my long hair herself until she was satisfied with the result. "Beautiful." She breathed. "Even _she_ hasn't a son as beautiful as mine."

Well, mothers are always biased.

The number of comments I was getting about my looks that day made me suddenly aware of how others saw me to the extent that, when we were standing in the hall waiting to be announced, I studied myself carefully in the reflection from a huge, highly polished shield hanging on the wall. My features were regular, in good order, but the eyes – even I had to admit – were my best feature; large and of a piercing blue colour. Well, if, as I suspected, Alexander no longer wanted me, I would not be alone for the rest of my life – even though my heart would be. However my vanity was taking me, my love for the prince had not diminished; I was merely readying myself for the inevitable. To think we could have been allowed to stay together had been a dream – a lovely dream that had no chance. He would be king – I a memory of a golden summer in his youth, no more. The thought made my eyes start to water as we were ushered into the hall to meet the King.

I had seen Philip before of course but not for some time and the sight of him shocked me. One eye was gone, he was lame in one leg and had a new, livid scar on his bearded face. What else shocked me was the leer he was sending in my own direction.

"So this is the boy that has my son's heart, eh Amyntor? I can see why…"

"Yes, my king." My father answered. "I have spoken to him about his – friendship – with the Prince and he…"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure he understands now why it couldn't be. Never worry, lovely Hephaestion, you'll never be without company."

Beside him Parmenion smiled indulgently but Attalus laughed in a way that made my hackles rise. Hastily bowing, my father led me over to an empty couch – one as far away from the king as he could find I realised later.

"We'll stay just long enough not to give offence then leave."

I nodded my agreement emphatically. I did not like the atmosphere in the hall nor the looks I was getting. Not all were lust, some were pure contempt, others hatred. It was a fore taste of how I would be treated for the rest of my life though, mercifully, I did not know that then.

I had wondered if Alexander would join the banquet but he did not and I sat on the couch beside my father, keeping my head down and hoping we could go soon. Later than I had expected (he had got into a conversation with Antipater) he nudged me to say we could go. But outside in the hall, a servant came up to him and said Parmenion had asked if he could have a short word about something. Telling me to stay where I was he followed the servant down the deserted hall. I waited. And waited.

Suddenly I heard footsteps approaching, a sound that did not fill me with joy. I could distinctly make out the drag of a lame leg so knew it was the king before he appeared in front of me. Gulping I bowed as he came up, praying to all the gods I could think of that he would either keep on going or my father would come back that moment. Neither happened.

I was standing with my back to the wall so I was in a perfect position for him to cage me. Inexperienced I may have been, but a fool I was not. I saw the lust in his one eye long before he had me pushed right back against cold stone with his body's weight, one hand playing with my hair the other caressing my neck.

"You truly are beautiful, Hephaestion…" he breathed all over me. I turned my head as his breath reeked of stale wine, which gave him access to my neck and he took it, biting into me and then licking the blood he had drawn. I squirmed a bit to get away but only succeeded in bringing my lips close enough for him to take in a bruising kiss, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth, probing its way around whilst one hand found its way under my chiton and was feeling his way up my thigh to my groin.

I was in a quandary. He was the king – if I fought him off it could go bad for my father. But I was not about to become another of the long line of his whores. So I brought my own hands up to his chest and pushed for all I was worth. He was a big man but I was not so small myself.

"Please – no - your majesty." I said after wrenching my mouth away from his – he just started again on my neck. "I don't – want this!"

"What you may want boy doesn't concern me! I want you and I will have you." At this he grabbed m y balls in a vice like grip, whilst lifting me up off my feet so he could get me into position to bugger me.

That was the last straw – I yelled and at the same time head butted him in the face; as he dropped me I kicked his bad leg but he swung at me, catching me on the side of my head and I fell to my knees.

"You bloody little…"

My hair had come untied and was all over my face as I looked up at my fuming king – I must have resembled a very wild lion because I remember growling deep in my throat, ready to attack him, king or no king, if he came near me again.

"I am no one's whore!" I snarled. "I belong to no one! I will be loyal to you as my king, but nothing more!"

"Why you…and what of my son? You spread for him willingly enough, or so I've heard"

"I love him. He's my friend. I will die for him if need be but I won't…"

"Bed his father, even if it might mean I will support your relationship with my son?"

"No." The answer came out without thought. I would never dishonour what Alexander and I had – even if it was over in a physical sense.

The King stood there, breathing hard then straightened up. "Get up, boy."

It was an order I could obey and did so, pushing my hair off my face and looking directly at Philip.

He stared at me then let out a rueful laugh. "I don't think I'd like to face that look over a naked sword blade." He rubbed at his face where I had hit him. "And you have a hard head too."

"I get that from my father – sire."

"Yes – you do. Be off with you. Your father's in the courtyard."

Turning to go I suddenly understood the full import of his last words. Swinging back to him I glared at the man. "You bastard!" then walked away still watching him before turning back and running down the corridor. He had deliberately lured my father away on some false pretext so he could try and rape me. What kind of a man was he, what kind of father, what sort of king? I was disgusted, ashamed, wiping at my face and mouth as if his touch was sinking into my very flesh and I would never get it out of me. Outside I threw up. The cold air started to clear my senses. I couldn't let my father see me in this state and I fumbled with my hair, pushing it back and re- tying it roughly, then pulling it over my neck where the king had bitten me. It wasn't perfect but it would have to do.

Walking into the courtyard I saw my father. He was not alone. Alexander was with him.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

A/N A bit of violence in this chapter, bad language and sex!

  
  


Chapter Three

I approached the two with some trepidation, trying to calm my heart, which was beating so fast I felt it would burst out of me. Alexander whispered something to my father, gave me one fleeting glance before turning on his heel and leaving. I closed my eyes for a moment to get myself under control. It was as I feared – his mother and father had done what no others could, persuaded him to give me up as a lover, very likely as a friend too. I saw that from the quick glimpse I had of his face before he left.

"Hephaestion, let's go…what happened to your hair? And your chiton is ripped…"

I stared at him unseeing, uncaring now as to whether I should cover up what the King had attempted to do to me.

"I was caught by some old fool who was drunk." I murmured. "It was nothing I couldn't handle. Father, I want to go home."

He scrutinised me carefully all the way to our home. My father was no fool and knew there was something I had not told him but he also realised I was too upset to discuss it or the Prince. Before I went to my room, however, he said something that jolted me out of my stupor.

"The Prince asked to call on us – you – tomorrow. I said he could."

To say I never got any sleep would be an over statement – actually, I slept like the dead, which surprised me. I suppose I was so stressed my body decided it needed to recuperate and shut my mind down totally – there were no dreams, either.

I ate a quick breakfast with my family and waited for Alexander to arrive. He was prompt, riding into the courtyard barely moments after I had finished breaking my fast. He greeted my parents first then asked if he and I could speak alone – my father left us in his study.

An uncomfortable silence fell then, one I had no idea how to end so I studied his face. The perfect features were hardened with concentration, the grey eyes dark, no spark of joy or pleasure at being with me as there had once been. I decided that as I was the elder, though by only half a year, I should help him by telling him I understood what he had come, finally, to tell me.

"My Prince, I am honoured you came to me today but there was no need. I understand how things now stand between us. Please let me assure you that you will always have my loyalty and obedience whenever you have need of them. I wish you…all that you desire."

He looked at me then, his head cocked to one side again, like a listening bird.

"What?" he said, his tone confused.

"Alexander – I'm saying I know you can no longer be…my lover. I understand this and can only…it was a dream, one I had no right to think would ever…"

"Don't you love me anymore?" His voice carried a hint of anger mingled with pain.

"I never said that – I love you, of course I do. But your parents see me as a threat to you and I will not be the cause of harm…"

"Oh, Phai!" And he pulled me towards him, hugging me so hard it hurt. "Do you think I am so easily dissuaded that I would give up the one thing in this world I really want, need?"

"But the letters… you left without a word!"

"I was furious, not with you, but with THEM! I left immediately so that I could tell both of them that they were to leave you alone and to learn to trust my judgement in this."

"Xander – I can't breath!" he was smaller than me but he had the strength of a bull when he wanted.

"Sorry."

We decided to go for a ride and headed out towards the countryside, talking as we rode.

"Mother was adamant that I should finish with you. Her arguments were sound to a point. She said you would be my weakness, one a king could not afford. Oh, she was good Phai! As she spoke I saw you dead in any number of ways – in battle, assassinated – then she said 'How can you trust him? He wants power, through you – how can you tell he is loyal?' That made me laugh out loud – how can I be sure of anyone in my position."

"I won't say I have no ambition, Xander, I do – for my family's honour, for my own but mostly for you."

His smile was the sun coming out to me. "That's what I told her – I know you, Hephaestion. You have my love but also my trust – are both safe?"

"Yes – always."

We rode on in companionable silence for some time, in no rush to reach anywhere except an understanding that would last the rest of our lives.

"It was my father's reaction that surprised me the most." He went on finally. I fidgeted on my horse at the mention of the King, which Aries disliked and bucked me a little.

"Oh? How so?"

"At first he was adamant that our friendship should end, that I should either marry or take an _erastes_, not 'throw myself at a boy my own age'. Then, last night, he came to my room and said…"

"What?" I was terrified the King had said something of what had occurred in that corridor.

"That I had been right; my choice was admirable and that he now believed you would be a man to trust and listen to when I needed objective advice. I agreed with him, but was surprised nonetheless."

So was I. What was going on? Had I misread the King so badly? I fingered the bite on my neck absentmindedly, which proved an error. My Alexander had the eyes of a hawk and he proved it then.

"Who did that to you?"

"What?"

"The bite on your neck, Hephaestion…who did it?"

I tried to think quickly but could only come up with a lame excuse. "Wasn't it you?"

"No." His voice had taken on a gravely aspect that made me look at him carefully; the eyes were almost black and his face was stone. He was jealous! Jealous of me being with someone else – how …I nearly thought 'stupid' but hastily changed it to 'dangerous'. The truth, or a version of it, would serve us both for the best here.

"It happened last night. The King invited my father and I to the palace for a banquet, as you are aware. As we were leaving, a servant asked my father to go see Parmenion. Whilst I waited a drunk tried to, well, have me – he bit me before I could successfully force him off, which I did. He won't touch me again!" The last I said with such vehemence that Alexander did not doubt it had all been against my will.

He said he was sorry that his father's court was so undisciplined and if I told him the man's name he would ensure he was appropriately punished. I had to bite my lips to stop myself from letting out a bitter laugh at that – what was 'appropriate' punishment for an over lusty king who was your father? I doubt even Alexander would know the answer to that.

"It's of no importance, Xander. The man knew he had made a mistake and looked a fool in my eyes. It's enough."

"That is not enough for anyone who hurts you – it never will be." I barely caught what he said; it was as if he was making himself a promise for the future.

Ironically enough, he turned out to be the one person who hurt me the most

School finished for us when Athens and Thebes formed a coalition against Philip and decided to attack. The King pulled us all from Meiza – we were eighteen that year, adults and ready to take our places in the army. Some were more eager for it than others: Alexander and Cassander seemed to be vying for who would be the fiercest in battle and the most courageous. What did they have to prove to each other that they hadn't already done?

I was not so eager but just as determined to be a true Macedonian warrior, more for my family and Alexander than myself, though, if I speak truly, the idea of being a 'hero' appealed to my arrogance and vanity. We were given that chance when the King decided on a pre-emptive strike and took our army down before the Coalition forces could come to us and pick a battleground of their choosing. Philip met them at Chaeronea.

As we 'school boys' had not really been in a full scale campaign (Thrace didn't count) we were slotted into existing companies – Alexander made sure I was part of the cavalry squadron he was leading, along with Ptolemy and Cassander. This did not mean we would be staying with the cavalry; most officers were expected to spend a certain time with the infantry so as to understand how they fought and, more importantly, how to use them effectively in battle. But for this first campaign it was more a question of filling the ranks with bodies. Ptolemy, Cassander and myself had proven ourselves more than simply good horsemen so the king agreed to our placement.

What we did not expect was to find ourselves up against the most formidable fighting force of the day – the Sacred Band of Thebes, three hundred men made up of pairs of sworn lovers. Alexander, when he found out, was overjoyed!

"Alexander – these are the best fighters in Greece!" I reminded him unnecessarily.

"Precisely, Phai. What better challenge could I have? If I can beat them I will be able to show not only my father and the army what I'm capable of but the whole of Greece. It will be a feat to rival that of Achilles."

Ah, Achilles – I might have known. I loved Homer and would read the Iliad for hours without tiring of it but I was never so enamoured that I wanted to live it for real. Or is that the man I am now talking? Possibly. But Alexander truly wished to rival his ancestor Achilles – in war and in love. When he had decided on this I cannot say but I believe now that his love for me was prompted by his need to have a Patroclus as much as for me, myself. He loves me I know, but the myth is always there. To him it is a challenge, to me, more and more, a burden. I cannot always live up to his expectation of what 'his' Patroclus should be; the fight with Craterus and its aftermath sprang mostly from Alexander's disappointment in me as the alter ego of the ancient hero. Sometimes he forgot I was a mere human, with all the faults that could contain: I tried to be as he wanted but I was myself – flawed, ambitious, with my own needs and wishes that I could not and would not always subsume to his greater dream. They were more prosaic and routed in reality – prove myself to others; become a useful and loyal subject to my King; have a family; always be there when Alexander needed me, not just as a colleague but as a friend and lover. And never do anything that would tarnish or dishonour that love. Hardly myth making.

It was also at Chaeronea that Alexander showed the first sign of an aspect in our relationship that caused more arguments between us than anything else. His incessant need to ensure I would be 'safe' within the bounds of my honour and pride of course. It was these 'bounds' we fought over.

As I have mentioned during our sojourn in Thrace he had asked my opinion on the founding of his first Alexandria and I had gotten involved with enthusiasm – to found and build a city, to me, was an act of creation beyond most others; it was giving a livelihood yes but also an identity to the people who would live there. In my hands, over many years, such places were given the comfort and necessities of survival for thousands of people – it is the one thing I am justly proud of. Oh, Craterus could plan a battle campaign better than I could and place the men in the best order of combat without thinking about it too much as I would. But what was left once that campaign that battle was over? Wounded and carrion. Perhaps I will not go into the histories as a great warrior but I pray to the gods our cities will outlast any memory of me, if not that of Alexander.

Alexander's greatest aspect as a leader was his ability to recognise a person's capability and use them to the best for both him and themselves. Eumenes was excellent, as I have said, as a secretary and organiser; Craterus and Cleitus for leading men and charges in battle; Ptolemy for sagacity and Nearchus for his love of the ocean. Mine was logistics and diplomacy, which Alexander was grateful for in other ways than simply getting supplies when he needed them or talking to a potential enemy and making them an ally. It meant he always had a perfect excuse to keep me away from a battlefield whenever he could manage it. He wasn't fooling me one bit. What he was doing was giving my rivals an 'unrivalled' reason for denigrating me at every chance they could get. So started my fight to be allowed to prove myself on my own terms and not his.

At Chaeronea I fought with the Companion Cavalry as a trooper, positioned far back in the wedge formation when we initially charged. Once we struck though, it was every man for himself and I moved up to cover Alexander as soon as I could. This was for many reasons; not least that he was my commanding officer and knew instinctively what he was doing. My main concern, as his friend and lover, was his worrying habit of concentrating on his goal and not noticing what was going on in his immediate environ – this left him wide open and I decided it was my duty to plug that gap.

I also noticed the number of times he was looking back to see how I was doing and it was during one of these 'lapses' of concentration that he was nearly speared from behind by a member of the Sacred Band. Without conscious thought guiding my arm I raised my sword and slashed down into the man's shoulder, forcing him to drop the weapon, then my next swing bit deep into his neck. Alexander swung Buchephalus about by forcing the animal up onto his hind legs and jerking the bit viciously to the left. I did not realise his reason until I felt a thud on my own horse's flank as he speared a man coming to attack me from behind.

"Close." Was all we had time to mutter at each other before we were engaged again in blood and death.

Philip had a total victory. The opposing army was either running or dead; only the Band kept their station, fighting with a determination that was almost unnerving to me, no matter how many times they were called upon to lay down their arms. Only when over two hundred and fifty of them lay dead and the remainder severely wounded and their only view of the rest of the Athenian army being their collective heels, did they submit and the battle was finally over.

The destruction of the Sacred Band was the one incident that has always stayed in my memory and that I have never ceased to regret. Alexander feels the same. These men were such superb fighters, so committed and loyal that we could have used them in the Asian campaign with great affect. But it was not to be – they passed into Myth. The King ordered a communal burial pit for them, set aside in a place of honour. Before we left Greece, Alexander and I revisited the battlefield, perhaps to ask their blessing on our enterprise and our love – they would have understood both. Above their tomb stands a huge lion, ordered by Philip who had spent years of exile in Thebes and knew some of these men personally, guardian of their honour and to remind the ages of their bravery.

The night of the battle the King called for a _komos_, much to the Prince's disgust, but we had to attend or else offend the King – I would have preferred some private time with my friend, then a good nights sleep. For once I drank more than Alexander but was not so far in the grip of Dionysus that I missed him leaving the _komos_ on his own. I could not follow immediately as I wanted as I found myself at that moment in a bear hug by a very inebriated Cleitus.

"Well, my little Athenian – now do you see the difference between a Macedonian and a philosopher? You only see the latter's arses."

He found his wit very amusing evidently as he laughed loudly but I was too busy concentrating on staying on my feet and keeping the Prince in view to see where he was heading to mind Cleitus. This he did not like so drew my attention back to himself by grabbing my chin in his huge hand, forcing me to face him and then kissed me – not a gentle drunken one either but brutal and demanding. I fought off his invading tongue and hand under my clothing and stamped down hard on his foot but it was no good; he was insistent and much stronger than me, being a grown man of thirty summers to my barely eighteen. Years of soldiering had given him powerful muscles and hands I had seen once crush a puppy's skull as if it were no more than an eggshell. Finally breaking through it felt like my mouth was full of a ravening snake, so different from the gentle probing of Alexander. Cleitus was not trying to be considerate, he was showing me how he felt about Athenians and a young cub that had displaced him from his rightful place with the heir to the throne. What surprised, and frightened me too, was though I understood exactly why he was doing it, his touch was arousing me – and he knew it.

At that moment Ptolemy collided with us, whether by accident or deliberately I was never able to find out, and we all landed in a heap on the floor. Taking my chance as he had been forced to release me, I scrambled to my feet, perfectly sober, and ran out of the knot of dancing and carousing officers, pushing my way through equally drunken troops and then the guards. I knew where Alexander had gone and made straight for him.

He was sitting near the bodies of the Sacred Band, which had been laid out in orderly rows ready for burial on the morrow, staring ahead but not seeing what was before him, communing with his daemon. In moments such as these he was as far away from me in mind as he was physically near. It left me feeling very much alone. But it was a part of who he was and as such I had to accept it if I was to remain with him.

Kneeling down beside him I placed a hand on his knee, to let him know I was there, and waited. My own mind was going over the day's events and the shock was settling in finally; Alexander had come close to being killed, as had I. It was another thing I had to accept if I was to be his friend. In this quiet time by the bodies of the fallen I settled all this in my mind; he would be king, a great general and would always place himself in front of his troops, leading from the front – it was what they loved about him, what I did too. Watching his face I buried within myself the fear he would be killed and promised both him and myself that I would live each day for itself and for him without questioning the why or the wherefore or what might happen. It would be a constant burden to bear and my only release would be death but I accepted that as I sat beside him, waiting for him to return to me.

A sigh as deep as the sea shook his frame and then his eyes looked down into mine and smiled. He pushed a stray lock of hair away from my face and then studied me as intently as he had the sky before. I said nothing merely offering myself quietly to his inspection.

"My Hephaestion." He sighed quietly. "I nearly lost you today…"

"And I you. That's what it is to be a soldier. They knew that too." I indicated the Band with a slight motion of my head.

"Yes. But knowing a thing is not the same as coming face to face with its reality. I know now I will never be able to accept your death with such equanimity. You mean too much to me, Phai. You're my sanity, my rock, part of my very being."

This was going in a direction that disconcerted me greatly. Soon he would be saying I was not to fight at his side and I couldn't allow that – I had to be, not for honour but to watch over him. That was my responsibility, given to me by my love for him and by the gods perhaps.

"Alexander. I love you. You're my king in all things, especially my heart. But you have to let me fulfil my own destiny – which is to serve and protect you."

"Protect?" he smiled down at me. "Am I so incapable of defending myself?"

"No. You fight like a demon. It's just that you…concentrate on the goal and only see how to achieve that and leave yourself wide open for attack from other directions."

"Conquer the heart of the problem and you win the fight."

"Alexander! To the enemy _you_ are the heart of _their_ problem. Kill you and…"

"The Macedonian army will still fight! But I accept your point. That's why there's a Royal Bodyguard within the Companions."

"Exactly."

"I can't risk you, don't you understand that?"

Standing up abruptly I brushed off his hand and glared down at him. "Then my Prince I may as well as join the women!"

"Oh, don't be silly."

"Silly? SILLY! You say you love me but you want to dishonour me by wrapping me up and keeping me somewhere safe! Did any of these men around us do that to their lover? Did Achilles to Patroclus?" That was my last resort and it usually worked.

It was Alexander's turn to stand up, equally angry as I could tell by his fists clenching at his sides.

"You're deliberately twisting what I'm saying. And don't bring Achilles into this – or do you forget it was his fault that Patroclus died?"

Ah – that was it, I thought. Always the myth. How much did he ever consider me as Hephaestion and how much as his 'Patroclus'?

"I'm not fucking Patroclus! I'm me, Hephaestion Amyntoros – flesh and blood, not a myth. Do you ever remember that?"

I stormed off in the opposite direction to the camp, not even thinking if it was safe or whether any of the enemy were still lurking around. Behind me I could hear Alexander following but I didn't slow down one bit until I felt him grab my arm and jerk me round to face him with such force I lost my balance and fell on my back. Taking advantage of that he landed on top of me, pinning me down.

"Of course I know who you are! Don't you realise that if you die I'll go insane – nothing will stop me from following you to Hades as soon as I can."

"Touching!" I sneered. "Can you wait until it happens before deciding on killing yourself?"

We glared at each other, fighting without blows, trying to let the other know how much we cared and how much we needed the other to understand why we were having this argument. A thought then came to me.

"The Band all took an oath Alexander, to do nothing that would dishonour their lover or the rest of the group; they fought together and were ready to die together as we saw today. I am ready to do the same – or are you less than that?"

Grey eyes fought mine in a furious battle of wills but slowly I saw them lighten with reason and finally submission.

"No, Hephaestion. I'm not. We will fight side by side, watching the other – but – don't get yourself killed, eh?"

"I can't promise that, my love, but I will promise to do the best I can to stay alive for you – and for me."

I smiled up at him and pushed a little to ask him to let me up but he never moved a muscle, simply continuing to stare down at me. Well, I had gotten what I wanted, a submission from him to let me continue at his side; it was clearly right that I should give him something in return, a submission of my own. I had only one thing I could give to him at that moment; a sacrifice to the fallen Band as well as to my Prince.

"Alexander – we should make a sacrifice, a confirmation of our oath's to each other, here, before the Band. It will be a way of showing their spirits we understand them and share their ideals."

He nodded. "How do we do that, my Phai?"

"Take me."

I heard his sharp intake of breath above me in the dark and knew what was going through his mind – I was no servant, or young boy but the same age and a nobleman's son.

"Are you sure, Phai? It's not what they do in Athens and I…"

"Do you want me?" I asked him quietly.

"Yes. Yes I do."

"We love each other Alexander; this is not a question of submission or dominance. We're equals in this, if not rank. It's the only way I can show you my love and loyalty by placing my body and my honour at your…command."

"Then, Hephaestion Amyntoros, I accept both into my keeping."

We had done nothing like this before, having kept to the 'norm' as we understood it; neither of us had attempted penetrating the other but I know I had certainly considered it. Kissing each other then we had become as shy as the first time we had ever made love; I could feel how his hands were shaking even as they caressed my body and removed my chiton.

"Are you sure?" he asked again, once we were both naked.

"Yes. Besides, the way I keep getting groped by every man at court I'd like to lose my virginity to someone of my own choosing."

"Who in Hades has been doing that now?"

"Cleitus – just before I came to find you. It would seem I'm quite attractive."

"You're beautiful – Cleitus?"

I laughed at the fury in his voice and kissed him to shut him up. He returned the kiss with an ardour that took my breath away. His hands stroked and caressed as his lips moved over me and nipped and bit wherever he felt like, whilst I reciprocated in like manner. I don't know if I ever gave much thought to what it would feel like but I was so far gone by the time he breached me that the sharp pain only drove me on the more. Neither of us were virgins where girls were concerned so once I had adjusted myself to his not inconsiderable length within me instinct took over. Suddenly he pushed against something deep inside me and my head felt it had exploded; such a sensation of pleasure hit me that I couldn't help but cry out and arch into his thrust.

"Oh, gods, Alexander – do that again!" It took awhile for him to find the right angle to hit the spot but once he did he never lost it again and we both came very soon after. He collapsed on top of me and I could feel him shaking as much as I was in the aftershocks. Pulling out of me we lay in each other's arms for awhile, our heart beats steadily slowing back to normal; I could even hear the komos in the distance now. A pleasant drowsiness started to creep over me when Alexander lifted my face and kissed me.

"Your turn now." He said.

"No! You are my Prince…"

"Phai – we are not Prince or subject but lovers. For tonight, this sacrifice has to be complete; we will both give everything to each other. Besides – after your reaction I want to find out how it felt. And you should feel what I did."

I didn't argue any further. My tiredness soon evaporated as our need for each other rekindled; he was so beautiful to me, the light from the moon catching the golden tints in his mane of light bronze hair; the feel of smooth skin over hard muscles and the taste of our combined sweat and heat made me want him so much I forgot that he was the son of a king but merely a lovely young man I was so much in love with. Pushing inside him he cried out much as I did so I stopped long enough for him to adjust to me before I started to thrust slowly at first then picking up speed at his urgent urging. It was nothing like it had been with the girl I had had – tight and hot, I found the small nub within him and rubbed against it as hard as I could and every time I did his ass muscles contracted about me, squeezing my cock till it was driving me crazy. I came in a cry that echoed through the night. Alexander had come too, coating our chests with his seed to mingle with my own from before.

We lay there saying nothing but expressing our happiness with small caresses and kisses until we began to feel chilled from the cooling sweat and cum on our bodies. Getting up we slipped quickly into the river and cleaned ourselves before putting on our chitons and headed quietly back to the camp. I was sharing a tent with Ptolemy and Leonnatus, Alexander with his father but we didn't want to part that night so we ended up in my bed, curling up under the furs and fell asleep immediately in each other's arms.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

A/N - There is very little in the sources about what happened at Philip's wedding, so I'm using my own interpretation, some of which was inspired by Renault and Stone's movie.  
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Chapter Four

This was perhaps the last time that Alexander and the King were in harmony with each other. From that pointon their relationship deteriorated at an alarming rate, assisted and motivated by Olympias.

I have tried for many years to look at her with a less than accusatory eye but I know I am rightin blameing her for so much that affected her son for the worse. She loved him – too much; she used him in her fight against her husband – too often; she managed and manipulated how he saw himself and those around him – incessantly. I hate her for all of that; hate what she has done to her son to weaken a being truly blessed by the gods who can only escape her mental abuse delivered non-stop during his childhood by drinking. It would be even worse if Alexander was not aware of it, with chilling clarity, himself. It's the reason he will never go home, never call her to him and certainly never let her anywhere near a child of his. To those who blame me for his not producing an heir before he left Macedon I say – you're wrong. Look to the mother, not the lover, for the person to blame.

In her defence I do not think Olympias ever considered herself a 'bad' mother: she genuinely believes she acted for her son's best interests against the machinations of the Macedonian court – she was Molossian after all, an outsider and I can identify with that. I merely state it became an obsession with her – she saw everything that Philip did as an affront and insult to her and a threat to her son, when it was nothing of the kind. No wonder Philip fell out of love with her and spent time with other wives, concubines and young men – they never questioned, screamed and clawed at him in jealous rages. And she was jealous, be assured of that. When Olympias loves she holds nothing back and expects the object of her love to reciprocate in kind; no one can live with such stifling, unrelenting need – not Philip, not Alexander – they both left her in the only ways they could.

Philip was no innocent in all this. He never understood the woman he had married and who had given him his only viable successor. It was not in his nature to do so – women were there to be soft, submissive and available and to give him sons. For everything else he looked to his male companions and lovers – it was the Theban way and most of his wives accepted it quietly. Not Olympias. It was this fighting spirit that she passed on to her son and, joined with his father's military ability, made him so invincible in so many respects. It also left him in a constant battle within himself to control these two warring aspects of his psyche only clear to a few of us. This was where I found my role in his life, to buffer him from the extremes of his own personality; to help him fight those ever present demons in his soul that could erupt into bouts of violent temper and uncontrolled irrational behaviour – witness the killing of Cleitus and his marriage to Roxanne.

All this I could usually temper to manageable proportions but not always. And I could not be there all the time, which left him alone surrounded by others who did not understand what was going on inside of him and cared even less. He was the King and their way to power and fulfilling their ambitions. No fault in that but few of them took the time to care about Alexander for his own sake. That was my job and I had few rivals for that part of the position of 'favourite' though I was accused fast enough of not doing my job when he lost control and they couldn't contain him.

But the reasons I had to leave him were for his benefit in other ways. He had found me indispensable in ensuring his army survived between battles, which was most of the time we were on the march. I had a natural flare for logistics, organisation and engineering so he trusted me to do this without his supervision, knew I could be trusted to do it accurately and with speed as he wanted. It is not heroic but I am proud of my work. Together we produced and controlled an army that was unstoppable and invincible to all – except to itself.

Philip had sent one of the Athenian captives to relate his terms to a defeated Athens. Demosthenes had whipped the city up into a frenzy before the battle of what a conquering barbarian Macedonian army would do to them – rape, pillage and burn. When Philip's terms were explained to them they were stunned into submission. All he asked for was their acceptance and recognition of his hegemony over all Greece and for that he promised he would not cross their borders. The captives were returned; the ashes of the thousand fallen also went home under an honour guard led by his son, Alexander. It was to be his first and only visit to the city of Pericles and Plato; I was returning to my birth place but it would be as new to me as to him.

Our hosts were obsequious to the point of being repulsive. The all conquering 'hero's' were offered anything and everything – jewels, clothing, art works, women and boys. Ptolemy met Thais here for the first time. I spent time with a courtesan named Ariadne and Alexander's was called, I believe, Arsinhoe – the boys we ignored. These womenwere a pleasant diversion; professional in their accomplishments, witty in their conversation, a credit to their profession. We enjoyed them; they enjoyed us as well-heeled clients always are and we promptly forgot each other as soon as the visit was over – except Ptolemy. He made arrangements for Thais to join him at Pella, much to Alexander's surprise and amusement.

During the day we visited the historical sites of the City – the Acropolis where Alexander sacrificed and then sat for a statue of himself to be placed there. We also went to Aristotle's old school, the Academy of Plato. Here we met Xenocrates and we talked to him for the best part of the day. I found him especially interesting and we started a correspondence then that lasted until his death years later.

When not accompanying my Prince I found time to call upon the respective families of my parents. Initially wary, I had not seen them since I was a babe and they might not be so happy that my father had left the City to serve Philip, I found them as pragmatic as my father and amused at how the citizens of their city were now fawning on them due to their relationship to a highly placed relation at the Macedonian Court. I found many new friends there and have kept in touch with them since. Ironically enough, years later, one of them acted for Demosthenes himself when asking me to use my influence with Alexander to 'go easy' on the old fool when he had gone too far finally in his attempts against my King. I did mention it to Alexander – we both laughed at the man's gall.

Having made our point that Macedon was now the power in the land and having behaved with the utmost decorum, at Alexander's insistence, to the surprise of some hard line Athenians we took our leave. I left my re-found family with regret, Ariadne with none. All in all, we headed for home in good spirits and the warm sense that we had fulfilled our mission faultlessly.

We met up with the King on his way back from the Council he had called at Corinth which had voted him, as he wanted, Supreme Commander of the Greek Forces 'for defence' against the Persians. On our return home we would begin to prepare the new expeditionary force immediately. That journey home saw Philip and Alexander on the best terms with one another I had seen – they acted as loving father and son and it pleased all of us. I had forgiven Philip his drunken attack, though he did still wink at me occasionally, but we both knew where we stood with each other. It pleased me to see them together and I looked forward to a continuation of that closeness when we reached Pella.

But in this wish I had forgotten Philip's propensity to think with his cock – an error Olympias never made.

Within weeks the King had fallen in love, again, with a young woman called Cleopatra. This was nothing new and unlikely to threaten either Olympias' or Alexander's positions at court. Except this time the girl was no foreigner but of pure Macedonian blood and a member of the Attalid family. Philip was not divorcing Olympias, merely adding a new wife to the five or six he already had, but due to her connections she would become his second ranking wife directly behind Olympias. If she had a son he would be a threat to Alexander, as he was only half-blood Macedonian – but not for many years. Macedonians never accepted a child king. Philip had gained the throne himself because of this when his brother left only a child, Amyntas, to succeed him. The Army needed an adult male to lead them and voted Philip as King instead.

No the threat came from the girl's uncle, Attalus. It was a threat that Alexander and his Friends, as we young men about him had now become known at court, recognised at once. The man was rich, powerful and fully prepared to push any offspring his niece produced forward as Philip's rightful heir. If this meant killing Alexander then so be it. Neither of us had ever liked the man and I found myself in the unusual position of agreeing with Olympias for once. But there was no child yet; we had a campaign to prepare for and fight – why second guess what the Furies had in mind before there was need to?

I discussed this with the Prince at length. He was disappointed with his father mainly because he could not understand how a man that old was unable to control his urges for young flesh.

"It's nature, I suppose."

"As a human being he should be above that, control it."

"I'll remind you of that when you're his age and chasing after some young page or girl."

He had the honesty to laugh at that. "You're right – that was the arrogance of youth talking."

"Or your mother?" I asked quietly.

"That too. You know me too well, Phai."

I was half inclined to tell him to stay away from the wedding, make an excuse not to go. But that, in the end, would only have worked to both the advantage of Attalus and Olympias and I could not let two people I considered his enemies win like that. So I agreed with his decision to attend. It was the worst mistake of my life and I have bitterly regretted it ever since. I failed to do my self-appointed task as I swore to do: protect him at all costs.

To say there was tension in the air during the wedding feast is an understatement. You could feel it crackling from person to person – I thought if I actually touched Alexander I would be burnt with Zeus' own fire, he was so tense. The guests had split along two lines – King's and Prince's friends; the younger Attalid's were sending pointed glares in our direction, a mixture of sneering civility, knowledge of their new status at court covering a violence that only needed the right spark to set it off.

We were no better. Ptolemy, Leonnatus, Perdiccas, Philotas, Cassander, Nearchus and Peucastis all mirrored their enmity back at them, for reasons of honest friendship to Alexander or a sense of risk to their own ambitions. I stayed close to Alexander, sharing his couch and keeping an eye on him and everyone else in the room, besides soothing him down – or was it myself I was trying to calm?

"We can leave soon, Alexander. Just a while longer until the bridal loaf is cut and then, once the toasts are done, we can go."

He nodded instinctively, not really listening, drinking deeply from his cup, his eyes never leaving his father who was well and truly in the grip of Dionysus. The man was in no state to do his husbandly duty that night I could see clearly – except he'd already done that weeks before and the girl was already rumoured to be pregnant. Barely able to sit up he held onto the poor girl in an iron grip and she looked – terrified! I realised how frightened she was then and I pitied her with all of my heart that I could spare from Alexander's equally painful situation. Philip's state was the perfect opportunity for Attalus to take centre stage and make his position clear to all.

I missed a lot of what he said in his toast as Cleitus chose that moment to land in my lap.

"Can I find you another seat Cleitus?"

"I'm fine here on your famous thighs, Hephaestion!"

This had begun as a joke of Ptolemy's in a veiled hint about my relationship with Alexander – too veiled for the down to earth Cleitus. He was drunk of course but his hands knew where they wanted to go, straight up my thigh and beneath my chiton. It was the fact that Alexander was ignoring this and staring stony faced at Attalus that drew my attention away from the Black's questing hands and I began to listen.

"…and produce a legitimate heir for Macedon!"

"Are you calling me a bastard?" Alexander cried in a voice he used only for the battlefield as his wine cup hit Attalus full in the chest. The infuriated man roared and threw his own back at the Prince who never moved a muscle, having reckoned the missile would miss anyway. I did though.

Shoving Cleitus off of me I proved my father's belief in my common sense totally misplaced by launching myself at the nearest smug Attalid who's face I took exception too and punched it with a gratifying, bone breaking crunch. Leonnatus had joined me almost immediately along with Cassander and Nearchus and we were soon in a free for all brawl. Typical wedding I suppose.

Only it wasn't; this was the King's palace and soon the Guards moved in to break it up and I was, literally, thrown back towards Alexander, who caught me before I crashed to the floor. Holding my upper arm in a vice-like grip he continued the heated argument he was having with his father who had furiously demanded he apologise to Attalus for his words and our conduct.

"Why do you side with a man who's just called my mother a whore and me a bastard? Old man, take care who you call family."

"Attalus' is family now, boy!"

"Because you can't stop yourself from rutting like a goat with a girl young enough to be your daughter! You make of yourself a fool and Greece laughs at you!"

"Alexander!" I whispered urgently, horrified now at where this was leading.

"Laughing at me? Who dares laugh at me! You bastard…" Philip swung down from his couch, drawing the sword he had used to cut the bridal loaf and lunged at his son. Instinctively I moved in front of the Prince but the King did not get to him. His lame foot had caught in a fallen cushion and he landed sprawling on the floor to the horror of the court, though I heard some of 'our' friends snickering behind me. Alexander pushed me aside, gently, and pointed to his father.

"Look men! This is the man who plans to cross to Asia and he can't even walk from one couch to the next without falling flat on his face!"

With that he turned on his heel and walked out of the hall, followed by the Friends. I stayed long enough to give a last look at my father who was standing with Parmenion and Antipater, as far away from Attalus as they could be; he gave me a swift nod and I went after my Prince into the unknown.

We left that night. Olympias was already packed when her son went to her, which I shall not comment on, and after taking her to her brother in Epirus we moved onto Illyria, using Alexander's previous missions there as a way to gain access to the tribal leaders. None mentioned that we were exiled or the King would have got his son back very soon – in pieces.

Most of the Friends had followed him, all but Cassander and Philotas whom he had told to stay behind as their fathers had not been a party to Attalus' insult and they would best serve him at the court. For the rest of us, who were not so high up in the elite, we did what we had to – follow our future king. He never forgot that. It was entirely possible that we would all be exiled for life or put to death as traitors if Philip so chose; joining Alexander in self-imposed exile was dangerous and had made our loyalties clear to all. It was done out of love for Alexander.

Our leader had been grossly insulted and it was not to be tolerated. I gave it no thought actually as it had never occurred to me to do otherwise. But I did feel a sense of guilt in that I had allowed him to go to that wedding against my better instincts. For the rest, Alexander never turned away love or met proofs of it with anything less than a return of it in full measure. It was, is, why we follow him to this day.

He never tried to lead the Illyrians in a rebellion against his father – that would have been self-destructive in the extreme. After all, he would be King one day and it made no sense to weaken his kingdom by allowing a part of it to rebel against Macedon. But after six months he realised we could not stay up there for ever. We never discussed it with words but I had his agreement and sent a message to my father who talked to Philip. Democratus of Corinth was sent to Alexander to discuss terms. It took a further two months of coming and going before everything was agreed – a tacit apology from Alexander in return for no action to be taken against his Friends, and acceptance of that by Philip.

So we collected Olympias from her brother, much to his relief (another part of the bargain – Alexander would not return without her), and returned to Pella to find the Attalid family firmly ensconced in high favour at court. Cleopatra, renamed by Philip Eurdikye after his mother (a Royal Name), had given birth to her child – a girl. We could at least breath again but it was soon apparent that she was, in fact, already pregnant again.

If I had hoped that things would calm down I was seriously mistaken and the next crisis, boarding on farce, was due solely to the malign influence of Olympias over her now highly strung and suspicious son.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

A/N – There is some question amongst historians whether the 'Carian' episode ever took place. As with a lot of sources on Alexander there is conjecture. But I decided, as this is fiction, to follow the historians, and Renault, in using it as a probability.

Chapter Five

I had gone to visit my parents on the afternoon of that day of madness as I had been doing each day since my return from Illyria. I craved the calm and unconditional love and support I always found there in contrast to the court that was anything but sanguine. My eldest sister was to marry in a few weeks time to a man in the Royal Guard, Leonidas, who I liked very much. He considered his job was to protect the King from all threats, not to make judgements.

It was here that my father advised me of the latest political coup Philip was making to smooth his way for the landing of the expeditionary force in Asia.

"He's succeeded in persuading Pixodarus, the satrap of Caria, to accept Philip Arridaeus as husband to his eldest daughter. It's a good move, making the man blood kin to Philip and bolstering his backbone to betray Darius."

"Does the man know what he's getting for a son-in-law?" I asked laughing. Poor Arridaeus was a half wit but harmless and I looked on him with the callousness of a youth in perfect health both in mind and body. Alexander, not surprisingly, loved his half brother and cared for him all his life.

"Won't matter. He's a son of Philip of Macedon. Even Pixodarus wouldn't expect to get the King's heir as a bridegroom for his daughter! It's as perfect a piece of political manipulation you're ever likely to see Hephaestion. Learn from it."

"I'm sure Alexander agreed when told of it. He was told of it, wasn't he father?"

My father squirmed a bit on his chair before giving me a sad look. "They're not talking much, son, as you know. Besides, Alexander has spent a good deal of his time with his mother these past few days and …Hephaestion, whatever is the matter?"

I must have looked as bad as I felt – I could feel the blood drain from my face as I thought on his words and how Alexander had been over the last two days. Yes, he had been with Olympias a great deal. How did I miss the signs? Was it possible he could be so blind?

"Sorry, father – I have to go."

"What's wrong?"

"Hopefully nothing but…"

"But?"

"This 'political manipulation' could be seen as something entirely different by a person who wants the King to be seen, at all times, in a worst possible light. It could so easily be twisted to look as if Philip…"

"Was naming a successor? For the sake of all the gods Hephaestion no Macedonian would accept a half-wit as King! Not even she…oh, but she might. Go!"

I raced back to the palace to be confronted with an uproar that confirmed my worst suspicions at once. The marriage was being discussed as an out and out avowal by Philip that Alexander was no longer to be considered his heir. Not even Ptolemy was immune to this madness, urging Alexander on loudly to show his father, their father, that he could not be treated that way.

I spun around from one person to the next in a whirlwind of accusation and counter accusation until my head swam. Not a word of sense from any of them did I hear, Alexander most of all. He was pacing up and down, a hand raking through his bronzed mane, eyes flashing like a thunder storm – I knew that look; he was planning something. It had to stop before he went too far again. I went to him and forced him to halt and look at me, then indicated I wanted him to follow me into the next room, his bedchamber.

"This is hardly the time for love, Phai…"

My answering glare of barely controlled anger filtered through his seething brain eventually because he nodded and led the way. Slamming the door shut I wasted no time in prevarication or soothing words.

"Have you gone completely out of your mind? Have I misread the calendar and it's the Dionysia already?"

"What are you talking about? Philip plans to disinherit me!"

"No he doesn't."

"Are you so much in favour with 'my father' that he tells you what he won't discuss with me?"

"Oh, don't be stupid!"

"That's the second time you have accused me of madness, Hephaestion Amyntoros. Do not make the mistake of saying it a third time."

We stood there glaring at each other, short breaths coming out of constricted chests. Both of us realised we were on the edge of a precipice and the next words we uttered could have sent our friendship plummeting down onto the rocks, dashed to pieces for ever. By recognising that fact I calmed myself to answer him with facts not emotion.

"My father just told me. That's why I came back."

"Mother told me the King tried to take you to his bed. Is it true? Was he the man who bit you?"

How did the bitch find that out and why was he mentioning something so inconsequential now? Then I realised – he was terrified he had lost my loyalty and his mother would not think of how such an accusation would hurt him if it made her son hate his father, and me, the more.

"I told you it was a drunken old fool. Yes, it was Philip. He did not succeed then, now or ever will, Alexander. I love you. What I say to you now is not to belittle what is going on here. I know you're hurt but do not doubt my loyalty again."

He let out a sigh and threw back his head as if he would howl, but did not, simply started to rub his neck to release the tension that was there.

"Did your father also tell you that Philip is divorcing my mother?"

No, he hadn't, but it was possible he was not aware of it. Philip would tell him of matters pertaining to the government but my father was not of the inner circle so 'private matters' would not be discussed with him. This news made sense of Alexander's reaction to the Carian wedding. I tried to get my thoughts in focus and wanted desperately to take him in my arms and hug him but I knew he would not allow that – just now. He needed my advise more.

"I'm sorry. That is a terrible blow to your mother; but are you sure? She is a princess of Epirus; if he divorces her then her brother might…"

"Rebel? Not if he's Philip's new son-in-law."

"Son-in-law?" I said stupidly. Too many things were coming at me too fast to register. "Your sister Cleopatra?"

"Exactly. What matters then if his sister has been divorced?"

None whatsoever. What could I say to that?

I felt his hands cup my face and lift it so we could look into each other's eyes.

"I need your support Phai. I need you with me, whether you agree with me or not. Are you?"

"Yes. What are you going to do Xander?"

For the first time that day he smiled. It was a smile I never wanted to see aimed at me. "Diplomacy is a game we all can play, my Phai; as my father will soon find out."

Kissing me swiftly he headed out of the room, back to the chaos outside.

"Father Zeus, save us from this madness!" I prayed silently before following him.

Within the day he had sent his own envoy to Caria, the tragic actor, Thettalus; actors travelled everywhere in the civilised world. They were also servants of Apollo and had diplomatic immunity. His mandate was to offer Alexander himself as husband to Pixodarus' daughter rather than 'a fool and a bastard'. Naturally the man jumped at the change.

"See Phai – I knew it would work."

"Yes, Alexander – the man would be truly a fool to refuse you and accept Arridaeus. But what might you be getting?"

"I don't care if she looks like Bucephalus' arse!"

That certainly summoned up a vision in my mind let me tell you.

We waited for Thettalus to return. I stayed at the palace, not wanting to leave Alexander in the company of the others who showed no more sense than they had the first day. The days seemed to drag and nothing happened. I was hopeful this was a good sign. It was not.

The morning sun woke me from a fitful sleep. I was alone in my room, as usual, having left Alexander's in the early hours. We were trying to be more circumspect in our relationship.

Rising reluctantly I washed in cold water, drank some stale water from the pitcher by my bed and munched on an apple whilst I thought about what the day was likely to bring – news from Caria perhaps? Dressing in a new chiton my mother had made me, a pale blue colour, I headed for the door to go find Alexander.

Outside were two Royal Guards who, as soon as I opened the door, crossed their spears together in front of me letting me know wordlessly that I was under arrest. Silently closing the door again I went over to the window which looked out on a balcony running the length of that wing of the palace. Two more guards stood there. I was locked in. Sitting back on my bed I stared at the door for hour after hour, one thought alone repeating itself in my mind – where was Alexander?

It did not take a genius to realise that Philip knew what his son had been trying to do and had now taken steps. My concern was that he might decide his son had gone too far in treason this time and have him put to death. It numbed me: visions of his lovely body impaled with spears or crushed by rocks or hung up on a cross made me shake as if I had an ague. If that happened, I swore, I would kill Philip myself and then meet my own execution with pleasure.

With such cheering thoughts I entertained myself until I sensed the door had opened and I was no longer alone. Looking up I met the eyes of Antipater, the last person I expected to see there.

"My lord?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

"Follow me, Amyntoros."

I did as bid, painfully aware of the six guards surrounding me. They marched me to the audience hall which was full of courtiers. It was not they that caught my attention though as I entered.

Philip sat on his throne on the dais and before him, on his knees, was Alexander beside a taller manacled figure I barely recognised as Thettalus. I couldn't stop the gasp that left my lips at this sight: pain for Alexander's evident humiliation but shock that Philip had dare lay hands on a servant of Apollo and actually place him in chains!

Standing behind the kneeling figures, all guarded, were my friends – Ptolemy, Nearchus, Perdiccas and Leonnatus amongst them. I looked about and found Cassander in a far corner watching Alexander with a mixture of shock and pleasure on his face. He had never seen beyond the fact that the Prince was his ticket to power. Philotas stood beside his father on the dais, head down staring at his feet. One face I expected to see there that was not was Attalus.

Expecting to be marched to my place by my friends I was surprised to feel Antipater's hand on my shoulder halting me. "Stay here." He ordered before walking to the King.

I had to stand there and listen whilst my lover was treated to a vicious public tongue lashing by his father.

"How could you, my son, consider offering yourself in alliance to a mere servant of some barbarian king? Well, thanks to your stupidity and ego, he won't accept Arridaeus now. That means our invasion will not go as smoothly as I had planned. Men will die who need not have done – all thanks to you, boy!

"As to you, Thettalus – I trust you have now realised your talents are better used serving your calling as an actor. Leave the politics to kings."

"We have all learnt hard lessons here, my King; but a lesson pressed too hard can still be lost."

In other words 'You've made your point, man. Let me go and ease up on the boy.' I saw the two older men lock gazes and come to a silent agreement.

"Release him. Return to Corinth, Thettalus and concentrate on your acting for the next festival."

The actor gave his best bow before rising and allowing the guards to remove his chains. All the time Alexander was looking at him with such shame mirrored in his face: he always prided himself on sharing the dangers and fatigues of his men – this man he had failed, in his own consideration and it was cutting him raw. My heart almost broke for him, especially as I could see, as Thettalus had, that it was all a sham. Philip would never have executed the actor. He was doing this to teach his son a lesson in kingship in the cruellest way imaginable.

Once Thettalus had been removed the King told Alexander to stand.

"From this day the following are exiled from Macedon upon pain of death if they return: Ptolemy, son of Lagus; Leonnatus, son of Anteas; Perdiccas, son of Orontes; Nearchus…Harpolas…"

The list went on until everyone of the Prince's Friends had been called out except Cassander, Philotas and – me. I stood waiting expectantly for my name to be called but it never was.

"You all have until nightfall to say farewell to your families and be beyond our borders. Take them away."

As Ptolemy was marched passed me he slowed long enough to whisper 'Take care of him' before being pushed on by his guard. My own then indicated to me with a shove in the back that I was to move forward. What was my fate to be? For the first time I began to feel seriously frightened, not least because there was no sign of my father in the Hall. If Philip was determined to teach his son a lesson he would never forget what better way than to exile his friends and have the closest of them executed.

"Alexander, Hephaestion – follow me." Philip commanded as he limped from the dais and headed towards his study. Once inside the three of us were alone and Alexander opened his mouth to say something but his father raised a hand and growled out

"Be silent! Listen! I am told Hephaestion here was the only one of your so-called friends who advised you against this lunacy."

"Yes, father. He did not agree with my actions."

"Then he has more sense than you have. You will do well to listen to him in future. Because of that I have not exiled him with the others. But be warned, Alexander, one more senseless act like this one, even a breath that you're acting against me and my plans and I will have your lover brought before the Assembly and ask for his death. Do you understand me?"

I could see Alexander's jaw trembling with fury but he managed to answer "Yes, my King."

"His life depends on your good behaviour. Now go. Guard! See that the Prince reaches his room without any diversions and that he stays there."

As Alexander brushed past me we shared a long look, one full of worry, fear and love for the other. The door closed behind him and I turned my attention to the king who slumped in a chair and gave me a baleful look from his eye.

"That boy is his mother's son."

I glared at him, not hiding my contempt for what he had put my lover through, and stood stiffly at attention. He noted that and barked out a curt laugh.

"Easy whelp. We both know he needed the lesson."

"Did it have to be so cruel? Sire."

"Yes, by Hera, it did! Don't dare stand there and judge me! He must learn to act like a king. It takes more than the ability to kill and win battles Hephaestion, as you well know. I don't hold it against you that your loyalty to my son outweighed that which you owed to me. In your place, I doubt I would have done any different or gone running to the king to tell tales."

"Someone did." I murmured

"Yes – they did. You truly are no fool, boy. And it shouldn't take you long to work out who it was either. When you do, remember this – watch him; his loyalty is to himself alone. Be wiser still. Keep my son from making a fool of himself again and you will do me and the kingdom a great service."

He stood up and stretched, looking so exhausted that despite myself I began to understand the pressure he must have been under and how much trouble Alexander's unfounded concern for his status had caused him. My budding sympathy must have been apparent on my face as he stood before me, laying a hand on my shoulder, studying me carefully.

"Blue suits you. You truly are beautiful Hephaestion. Use that gift now and go give my son the comfort he needs."

For the first time that day I smiled and he returned it. At that instant we understood each other perfectly and I saw an insight into my king that I knew Alexander would never see or accept. He loved his son, was so proud of him and wanted him to fulfil his destiny – to be a great king. But he was up against such difficulties caused by his wife that he would never, now, get close enough to his son to teach him how to be a king. That task, I now realise, he passed onto me that day.

He called in the guard and instructed him to take me to the Prince. "Make sure no one disturbs them." He ordered. Meaning Olympias I surmised.

Alexander was pacing the room as I entered and as soon as the guard left he pulled me into a rib crunching hug.

"Are you alright? Did he hurt you?" he asked breathlessly, in a voice that sounded like he had swallowed rocks.

"I'm fine, Alexander. He neither touched me nor threatened me in anyway." I replied as he looked me up and down, stroking back the hair from my face behind my ear and nervously tracing my features with his fingertips ghosting over my skin. I held him to me sensing how close he was to falling apart.

"I'm here, Alexander, I'm here."

He collapsed in my arms and I sat on the bed, holding him as he shook with emotion and anger, tears pouring soundlessly from his eyes.

"He put his foot on my neck, Phai. He ground me into the dust before them all as though I was nothing!"

"I know, my love, I know…" it was no time to explain to him what I believed Philip had actually been trying to do nor that the king had confirmed his status clearly for all to hear in that Hall. He didn't want to hear it then.

The words spilled out of him; words of hate, years of pent up anger and pain that had him teetering on the verge of insanity. Whatever Philip had hoped to accomplish this day he had completed the total rupture with his son that Olympias had worked so hard to achieve – at a terrible cost to both men. I had to stop him from thinking of it all, tearing himself apart, trying to distance himself from his father to a degree that he was ready to accept the more wilder claims his mother had made; if he denied the king's paternity to his own mind he would start the walk down the road to megalomania and I would truly lose him. This, in a flash of clarity, was what Philip had sent me here for – he knew his son better than I ever thought. He knew exactly what had to be done. And so did I.

"Am I going mad, Phaistion?"

"No, I won't let that happen."

"I can feel my mind slipping…"

"Ssh. Enough now. No more words."

Easing away from him I loosened my belt then unfastened the pins of my chiton, letting it fall from me. Alexander quietened and watched my every move until, naked, I took him back into my arms and let both of us sink down on the bed. He was breathing rapidly as he stared down at me.

"You are so beautiful, my Phai."

"No words." I replied and kissed him on the lips, a kiss he answered with a fervour borne of suppressed rage.

This was not going to be gentle. Cauterising a wound never was. His lips ground down on mine, bruising, demanding, biting my lower lip until I tasted my own blood. I returned the compliment, tearing at his clothing until he was as naked as I then raking his back with my nails deliberately to cause pain that would stop him from thinking at all. It worked. Roaring in pain he forced my legs apart, grabbing me in one hand and squeezing until I screamed myself and bucked up beneath him giving him access to me. He drove into me yelling the paean at the top of his voice and proceeded to ride me as he would Buchephalus in a full charge.

There was no tenderness or love in it but a purely animal release that he needed; a catharsis for his humiliation and pain, with someone who understood his need and would accept it. That it aroused me beyond anything I had ever experience before confused me but soon I had no room to think, my body took over all my senses and I relished the feel of him, the power of him taking the one thing I had to offer. We came together, Alexander literally throwing back his head in a roar that would have waked the dead. The gods only knew what the guards thought of all the noise but they had their instructions from the king not to interfere.

He collapsed on top of me, both of us bathed with sweat and so hot to the touch it was as if we burned with an internal fire. It took awhile for the room to steady itself about me and when Alexander slipped out of me he curled up, exhausted, in my arms, head cradled in the crook of my neck and slept like the dead. Stroking his sweat soaked hair from his face I eased my sore body into a more comfortable position sure that I had succeeded in the task my king had set me.

Before sleep claimed me as well I remember thinking one thing. 'Oh, Father Zeus, let me not need to mount a horse any time soon!'

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

A/N – I know my take on how Hephaestion dealt with the killing of Eurdikye's baby may not sit well with everyone – I apologise to a degree but this is how I see the man and that he would put Alexander's needs and safety first. Feel free to disagree, after all this is only _my_ fictional interpretation. Feedback is definitely enjoyed, whatever it is!

  
  
  
  


Chapter Six

Philip sent the advance force of the expedition over to Asia, under the command of Parmenion and Attalus, to secure the crossing at the Hellespont. Perhaps, before the Carian debacle, Alexander would have been trusted with that task or even left in Macedon as Regent. Now Philip had decided he could no longer trust his son out of his sight so Alexander was to go with his father and command the Companion Cavalry – always under the hawk's eye. I was assigned to the Cavalry as well, in command of a troop as a junior, very junior officer.

There were two last things Philip had to do before we left: divorce Olympias and marry his daughter Cleopatra to his brother-in-law, Alexandros of Epirus.

The wedding was to be held, not at Pella, but at the ancient capital of Macedon at Aegae and festival games in honour of the gods were also to be held there to ask their blessing for the forthcoming expedition. It was going to be the most costly and splendid event ever held in Macedon in living memory, befitting the king's position as Pan-Hellenic war leader. That it was also used as an occasion to reiterate Macedon's power over them was not lost on any of the envoys attending from all the Greek States in the Alliance. On the day following the wedding we were all seated in the ancient theatre at Aegae to witness the dedication ceremony for the games.

There were musicians and acrobats, processions and chorus' singing paeans to the gods and Philip as twelve golden carts carrying over life size statues representing the gods of Olympus were drawn into the theatre – a thirteenth ended this pageant, representing Philip himself.

Alexander sat with his mother in the place of honour beside Cleopatra and her new husband, her uncle. All of Macedon's nobles were arrayed behind them as the King was to enter alone, thereby showing the Greeks that he was able to walk amongst his own people without guards or fear such as a despot would. Hubris, they say, is hated more than anything by the gods and they showed it that day.

I was seated with my father, some way from Alexander but I could see him talking to his mother and sister, seemingly cheerful if not happy. He was acting his part perfectly. Olympias had dressed to make her point today too – in blood red that stood out amongst a sea of white or cream like a wound. I shivered then and sent up a fervent pray against the bad omen. My father must have noticed as he turned and gave me a questioning look.

"I'm surprised she's here." I said to him quietly. We were at the far end of the theatre and had no one behind us to over hear our conversation, though the music from the parade was enough to drown our words.

"Only by command. She could hardly insult her own daughter by staying away."

We fell silent for awhile and I noticed Alexander turn in his seat, find me in the crowd and give me a small, secret, smile which I returned before he resumed talking to his mother.

"Talking of marriages, Hephaestion, your mother and I have been giving much thought to your own."

At first I thought I had misheard him but it slowly sank in what he had said. Turning my head slowly I stared at him, my jaw dropping open in shock.

"My what?"

"You're twenty – time you were married. And I think we have found the perfect wife for you. You remember your cousin, Hellanike?"

"From Athens? She's barely thirteen."

"It has been over two years since you last saw her and she is now sixteen and of marriageable age. I understand she is quite lovely, intelligent and witty, though with enough common sense to make her an excellent manager of your household. We've invited her here before you leave for Asia."

"No!" I cried out loud enough to have people nearby turn and look at me. Even Alexander had looked around having recognised my yell and looked concerned. "This is hardly the time father! I'm about to go on campaign."

"Precisely. The wedding can be celebrated and hopefully you'll be well on the way to becoming a father before you have to leave."

"I can't!" I whispered, grabbing his arm and pleading with him. "I'm not ready."

"This is all to do with Alexander isn't it? Hephaestion, you are no longer boys – that part of your 'love' has to stop, sooner rather than later. Besides, he has to have an heir and if you set an example by marrying I'm sure he will soon follow."

"Did the King suggest this father?" I growled.

"No – I did to him. It's time Hephaestion. You have to let go of him – for his own good and that of Macedon. Surely you see that?"

"That he has to marry? Of course I do! But you have to realise that he will never marry whilst his mother might be in a position to bring up his heir."

"She won't be here for much longer. Olympias leaves with her brother and daughter at the end of the Festival."

"And I suppose you two old men have 'cut out a mare' for him as well?" I spat.

"That is enough. Do not insult your king or me!"

"Why can't you leave us alone? We love each other. It is not a passing fancy or simply lust. We're – connected, part of the other. I thought you'd realised that by now."

"I do understand. But you MUST marry!"

"And I will. I want a family, father, as any man does – but not NOW."

I remembered the conversation I had had with Alexander on this self same subject the night before his sister's wedding feast. We were in his room, lying wrapped in each others arms and legs after making love. I was warm, content and fighting off sleep as I had to leave soon to go back to my own cold bed. What he said stopped then stopped my breath.

"I had hoped you would become my sister's husband, Phai – but now that cannot be, thanks to my father."

"Me? That would never have happened – I'm not of high enough rank."

"Nonsense. I want us to be related by marriage, my love. Now Cleopatra's taken and all your sisters married, we'll have to wait and find a pair of sisters for us."

"Sisters?"

"Yes, Phai – girl children born of the same parents?"

"I know that! Why is it so important?"

"Because then our children can marry and my heir's will be of your blood and mine."

I sat up and stared down at him in wonder – he was serious.

"You're truly serious about this, aren't you?"

"Never more so. It is the only way we can have children together – unless there's something you've not told me, sweetheart?"

I hit him then and that started a tussle which led to the inevitable and I never got back to my room after all. Now in the theatre his words came back to me and I knew that marrying Hellanike was out of the question. Where we would find these 'sisters' I was unsure but knew he would somehow. That was what he wanted and that was what I would wait and give him. How could I explain that though to my father?

I couldn't at that moment as the fanfare sounded to announce Philip's arrival. We all stood, except the four on the dais below, and awaited his entrance. From the shadow of the _parados_, the side entrance to the stage upon which his throne had been placed, I saw the stout, limping figure come out into the blazing light of day and raise his hands to the cheering spectators – his people, his Macedonians. It was the day he had worked for all his life, the pinnacle of his achievement of pulling the Greeks together, albeit loosely, under his leadership. His smile was beautiful and dazzling in its intensity.

Then I could not see him anymore as he was blocked from my sight by the figure of a Royal Guard.

"What's happening?" I heard my father say, craning his neck to see.

This was when the first scream began. Jerking my eyes back to the stage I saw the King, slumped on the ground, his white _peplos_ turning horribly red before my eyes, as red as the dress his wife wore. The Guard was gone.

"The King has been stabbed!" someone screamed and pandemonium struck.

From all the entrances the Royal Guards rushed in, Cleitus amongst them who went straight to the King, bending over the body to check for life: I saw the shake of his head and then the rest of the Guards were surrounding Alexander, protecting him with their bodies from friends and foe alike, and leading him away to the citadel.

My arm was grabbed painfully by my father to steady himself as he sank down onto his seat, pulling me with him, and I glanced over at Olympias. What I saw that day chilled my heart.

She had not moved a muscle but sat there as still as one of the statues surrounding her dead husband, a smile on her face that curdled my blood.

"Medea." I whispered then looked to my father, tears running down his face, staring at the still figure of his beloved king, the man he had left Athens to follow. All around me I heard wailing and saw tears streaking stunned faces.

'What was to happen now?' I heard people cry and to be answered by others 'Alexander is king now!'

And so it was.

The General Assembly voted him as king within an hour of Philip's assassination. There were no viable alternatives other than him – especially not the two month old son of Eurdikye. I doubted the child would live to see his third.

The King's body was taken in procession to the Citadel where it was met by the new King, dressed in black armour, his eyes dry as sand. Merely laying his hand briefly on his father's covered corpse he nodded for the procession to proceed to the temple above – the funeral would be held the next day. Then he walked towards my father and me.

"I grieve, Alexander, for our loss." My father said barely above a whisper. "But we have you to take his place."

"This is not how I wanted to become king, Amyntor."

"We know that, sire. It is – the will of the gods."

"Yes. Their will. Lord Amyntor, I need your son to be with me at the palace from now on." It was not a request.

"Of course, my King. You have the loyalty of our family and our love."

As he turned to leave I whispered to him "No wedding father." He nodded numbly and left.

"What wedding is that, Phaistion?"

Would I never remember his sharp hearing?

"My father was discussing my marriage just before – the king was killed. It's of no importance."

"No it is not. Because it won't happen until I decide it shall. You know of my plans in that regard."

I bit back a sharp retort, remembering that he had just witnessed his father being murdered in front of his eyes and must still be in shock. He was, as well, no longer Prince, not even, perhaps, 'my Alexander' anymore, but the King to whom I owed all allegiance, duty as well as love.

"Yes – my King."

There is a tradition in Macedon on the accession of a new king: he removes all those who would endanger his succession.

It is pure common sense, more so in Alexander's case as he was due to lead an invasion into Asia and needed to secure the kingdom before he could make a move in that direction.

Philip had supplanted his brother's son and young Amyntas had lived quietly at court throughout his reign. But those days were over; he was of pure Macedonian blood, and an adult, a perfect tool for a coup. Evidence was sought and found of his 'disloyalty' to Philip and his heir; he was executed, as were two other rivals for the throne, brothers and Princes of Lyncestis, a previously independent kingdom in the west of Macedon. Only their elder sibling, Alexandros, survived due to his timely acclamation of Alexander as king in the Assembly. A smart move on his part, a bad decision on Alexander's, as I pointed out to him.

This left the Attalid faction. The head of the family, Attalus, was with Parmenion and surrounded by his own troops. However, we had proof of his treachery and no one doubted that he would never accept Alexander as king. The only surprise was how stupid the man was; a member of my family in Athens sent me copies of correspondence between Attalus and Demosthenes in which he agreed to bring over his men to work for Athens against Alexander. It was all we needed and the King dispatched a loyal officer, Hecataeus, to take Attalus prisoner and return him to Macedon for trial – or kill him if that proved impossible.

Attalus got wind that his letters had fallen into Alexander's hands and tried to sue for a pardon by sending copies of them himself to the king! How did he ever believe that would work? They were mortal enemies; the insults he had thrown at Alexander when he was Prince had sealed his fate long before. Hecataeus looked on this latest move in a suspicious light and, using his own initiative, decided to act; he killed Attalus and showed his Royal Warrant to Parmenion who acknowledged its authority, as did the dead man's troops.

That left two of Philip's sons alive. Philip Arridaeus was, as I have said previously, a simpleton and not much of a threat. Besides, my King cared for him and loved him – he would accompany us to Asia however where he could be under constant surveillance and out of Olympias' grasp. The baby was a different matter altogether.

"He's only a baby!"

"Baby's grow up."

Grey eyes locked onto mine.

"I don't like it. There is no honour in killing someone weaker than yourself and unable to fight."

"You don't have to like it, my King. It has to be done. He is Philip's legitimate son, no bastard this time. And he is pure blood Macedonian."

"My father left Amyntas alive…"

"Yes – because he was married and had children. You don't Alexander. Unless, of course, you want this half-Attalid as your heir?"

Fire flashed in his eyes but he agreed with me in the end. The orders were given moments later and we then sat in his father's old study looking at one another for the next hour, saying nothing. What was there to say? I felt sick to my stomach but did not doubt for a moment that I had given him the correct advice. He knew it too and perhaps, at that moment realised what his father had been trying to teach him – that to be a king you have to be cruel as well as merciful. A king's power had to be unquestioned or the entire kingdom would suffer in the chaos that could ensue. This truth did not make either of us feel any better, nor should it have done.

Besides, how long would the boy have survived once we had left for Asia? Olympias' would have shown no such squeamishness.

It seemed to be taking too long and I was about to go and find out why when the guard returned and reported the job done. He looked as bad as we felt. Alexander nodded and dismissed him with a gesture but the man stayed put.

"Sire – the mother is also dead."

Alexander's head jerked up at that. "I gave no such order!"

"No, sire. Your mother – sire…"

"Go on." I told him as Alexander froze at his words.

"She was already there, sir, when we arrived. She – made us kill the babe before its mother, sir, against your orders. Then she told her to choose – the noose or poison. Eurydike hung herself, my King."

"Thank you, captain." I said, leading him to the door. "You acted under orders, no blame attaches to you or your men."

The dull eyes registered my words but only barely. Damn Olympias! Could she never leave well alone? I went to Alexander's side, stroking back his hair from his forehead which he was rubbing insistently with his hand, a sign of a headache.

"Can I blame her, Phaistion? She's a woman; she could hardly call her rival out to do combat."

"No." I kept my thoughts here to myself, knowing it was too soon to set myself against his mother.

"Why does everything in my life come back to her?"

I laughed harshly at that. It was a question I had asked myself a thousand times since Philip's assassination. Another question I had was how much power she believed her son would share with her now, especially as he still intended to follow his father's plans and invade Asia. Would he leave her as Regent? I sincerely hoped not but did not feel confident enough in my position as adviser yet to query this.

The funeral had been held, the king's ashes interred, but Olympias had not attended – Alexander had ordered her not to. Rumour said she had, instead, gone to the crucified remains of Pausanias and laid a wreath on it, but I doubt its veracity. We also heard, from my family in Athens, that Demosthenes had called for a vote of thanks to be paid to this murderer for ridding Greece of a tyrant. The man was such a fool! Of especial interest was the fact that he had 'announced' Philip's death a day before the official courier had arrived from Aegae. Now how had he known?

Alexander and I discussed what he was to announce to the world concerning his father's assassination and its perpetrators. Pausanias had been struck down by the Royal Guard whilst making his escape and they had not been able to catch another man who had been waiting for him with a horse. The killer had tripped over a root as he had run through an orchard and the Guards had swarmed all over him. We lost the source of valuable information there, or we saved ourselves from facing an unpleasant truth. My first question to my lover that day was more important to me than anything I had ever asked him before.

"Were you, in any way, involved in this, Alexander? Did you arrange your father's death?"

"No." the reply was calm and immediate, with no emotion in it. "I'll not lie. I have – had – no love left for him as a son for a father. But he was my King and I admired him for what he has done for Macedon and the army he has given me. I never planned his death, nor wished for it – much. And if I had, be assured I would not have chosen to do so in such a public way. It has left us open to revolt, mark my words. Our enemies will think Macedon is now weak and I an untried 'boy'. No, the timing was the worst possible for me, Phai, in so many ways."

I agreed with him but was relieved at this denial. If he had told me he had loved his father and would never have thought of such a thing I would have known he was lying to me. Too much had happened between them this past year for 'love' to be any part of his feelings toward his father.

"The timing was perfect for two people I can think of." I said.

"Yes."

We shared a look, our thoughts mirrored in each other's eyes. The Persians and Olympias.

"What will you announce?"

"It was the Persians. They're the obvious candidates and I'm sure proof will not be hard to find. And it will act as an impetus to the troops."

"Why would Pausanias do it? He was Captain of the Royal Guard, trusted and loved."

"Perhaps he wanted revenge…"

"Oh, Xander! Not that old chestnut. There was no proof he was raped by anyone let alone Attalus' men. And if he had been, what Macedonian is going to wait for years to exact his revenge for such a violation? He was a pawn and used by someone I'll grant you, but who – Darius or your mother? He did, after all, come from Epirus."

"In each story there is a kernel of truth. You were not at court at the time it was supposed to have happened. I was twelve then but I recall Cleitus talking to his sister, my old nurse, about something that had been done to Pausanias – they thought I was asleep."

He got up and poured some wine for us both then returned to his seat.

"I spoke to mother the day of father's death – asked her point blank if she had anything to do with it. Much as you have just done. She denied it."

I recalled her face that day, watching the corpse of her husband with pure joy. "She was involved, Alexander."

"Yes – I know. What would you have me do, Phai? Put my mother on trial? Tell the world she's a murderess and she used an ex-lover of my father's, who had been raped and given no justice by his king, to do the deed? Or do I say he was in the pay of Darius?"

Oh, I could already hear Demosthenes getting his teeth into that! No, there was only one answer to that and he took it. There was every chance that Darius was involved anyway – he needed to stop the Greeks and what better way to do it than remove their leader; that was something Alexander could understand very well.

"One other matter, Phai. This wedding of yours."

This was a turn in the conversation I had not expected and saw no relevance for it either.

"I'm not getting married! I told you…"

"I know. I was only going to say – that day – my reaction to what you said was arrogant and not the whole truth."

"Xander?" I was confused.

"My mother hates you, Hephaestion, more than you know. For the past six years I've made sure your food was tasted and had men watching you."

"You've what? Alexander…"

"Please! Hear me out before you yell at me! I know her. You've seen what she's capable of. I think the only reason she's never moved against you is that she knows I will kill her, mother or not, if she does. But that protection will not be there if you marry and have a child before we leave for Asia – we can't take them with us and they would be vulnerable."

His words made me break out in a sweat. My family! I had never considered there would be a threat to them. I looked up at him and my fear must have been plain on my face.

"I'm sending Amyntor south as soon as we leave to be my ambassador to Athens. He won't like it one bit but you'll help me persuade him it's for the best."

I wrapped my arms round him and kissed him. With all that had happened to him in those terrible few days he still found room to worry about me and what might happen to them when we were gone. It was as great a proof of love as I could ever wish for. "I do love you, my King."

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

His words were proved right fast enough about how his accession would be viewed as an opportunity to revolt against Macedon's hegemony. The first revolt occurred in Thessaly which controlled the important pass between mount Olympus and Ossa, the narrow gorge of the river Tempe.

Alexander acted as he was always to do, wasting no time and making a lightening march down to Ossa where the Thessalians believed they were invulnerable on that massive rock. They did not know my King never understood the meaning of that word; wherever the enemy were he would and could find a way to dislodge them. Ossa was to be the first of many 'unbelievable' victories; I, and his generals knew they were the product of an acute mind which could look at any tactical or strategic problem from every angle and come up with a solution faster than most of us could remember why we were there!

Discussing his idea with his engineers he had steps cut into the flank of Ossa itself, marched the infantry over the mountain and appeared in the Thessalians rear before they had finished taunting our envoys standing at their front gate. Their surrender was complete with not a drop of blood spilt in battle.

When the news reached Athens they did their usual arse kissing routine, rescinding their previous tribute to Pausanias and telling the Macedonian ambassador at Athens that they promised to be 'good' from now on. My King graciously accepted their apology but did not cross their border – he had something more important to do. He called a conference in Corinth where he was accorded all Philip's titles and confirmed as Pan-Hellenic war leader.

As soon as the south was controlled, we heard of renewed trouble in the north, in Thrace. This area was of paramount importance to the success of our invasion of Asia as it was our main route of communication – Parmenion was already being pushed back by various satraps and we couldn't leave communication with them in such a vulnerable position. So we moved north to Thrace and the unsubdued Triballians.

Almost the first action of Alexander as king was to rescind the decree's of exile of his friends and we marched north with Ptolemy, Leonnatus and the rest in our numbers. This was the first full campaign that Alexander had led since Chaeronea and he now had at his side all the men that were to go with him to Asia. Philotas was, in Parmenion's absence, his Chief of Staff; Cassander stayed at home to assist his father; and I was a junior officer in command of a company, as was Ptolemy and Leonnatus – Cleitus was a general and Craterus and Perdiccas were phalanx commanders.

Surprised? Be very clear on this – I may have, do, share his bed but when it comes to war or governing his empire my Alexander uses men who can do the job to his satisfaction. I did not have the experience he needed to lead men in a high-ranking position then – I had to earn my rank and prove to him I could do it the same as every other general in his army. I would not have allowed it to be any other way. As my king knows only too well, I'm an obstinate bastard when I choose to be. Of course I didn't refuse other gifts he gave me, such as a good horse, sword, better armour and a nice tent – he liked to see me well turned out and as he spent a good deal of time in my tent he wasn't going to accept mere junior officer standards there either. If accepting these things made me a sycophant, then I am one – I wouldn't have missed the dazzling smile that lit up his face whenever he gave me these gifts, large or small, for all the gold in Asia or the respect of my peers.

My rank did not allow me to attend Staff meetings then but the strategy they hammered out was re-discussed in private in my tent, or his, where every tactic was mulled over in the dark or early morning before we parted.

It was one of the toughest campaigns I have been in, fought in a savage region where the idea of placating the gods was killing nine boys, nine girls and nine sheep! Alexander never wavered, never stalled but drove on relentlessly until we reached the Danube and he received the tribute of all the tribes, including some Celts. I had never seen such massive men before in my life; they towered over my King physically but no one there was in any doubt who was in command. He even managed to talk some of these hulking specimens into joining our army and they proved their worth in many campaigns.

We were barely given time to collect our breath and take a well earned rest when he received word there was trouble in the south again. Demosthenes, that inveterate hater of Macedon had been working on the Thebans to revolt, goading them for the destruction of the Band and supplying them with arms and funds. He even produced a man who 'swore' he had seen Alexander fall in battle with his own eyes. I don't know if I was more amazed at his gall or depressed at the gullibility of the Thebans. Within the week we had marched back to Macedon, and a week later we were in front of Thebes herself. Still they refused to believe that it was Alexander himself and convinced their citizens that it was an army led by Alexandros of Lyncestis – no one to be afraid of. With the king's death, they argued, their treaty with Macedon was cancelled. They were swiftly disabused of that comforting idea.

Alexander requested their surrender. They refused. He sent again, confirming that it was indeed he, Alexander, himself in command and not a subordinate. They still refused! So we settled down for a siege. Philip's record in such campaigns was never great but this was to be the first time that Alexander would show to a world stage that he had mastered this art too.

Thebes requested help from her ally but when Athens realised it was Alexander himself there, they closed their ears and their gates to their allies pleading and left them to rot. It taught me, more than anything, the true nature of Athens – she was a city of hypocrisy; her support meant nothing if by giving it put Athens in danger. Ask the Boetians, or the Phocians or the Plataeans how Athens treated her 'friends'. I'd rather have a monarchy than this so-called 'democracy' they preach of – it's more honest.

Our army was now made up of contingents from most of the Greek States, many of whom had grudges against Thebans and proved it when the city fell.

Alexander has been condemned for destroying this City. Few who do so are soldiers or a king needing to put down a revolt. He conducted that campaign within the accepted rules of war: if besieged, and you refuse to surrender, no quarter need be given when the besiegers break in. All commanders in such a situation put the garrison and fighting men to the sword and sell the rest into slavery – even Athens did that. Could he have stopped the Allies from taking their own retribution against the inhabitants of Thebes as they did? Yes. In all our campaigns he had iron control over his men and only let them off the leash in a few rare instances. This was one of them.

I believe a part of him blamed Thebes for the less than savoury aspects of his father's character that had turned his parents against each other. But the main reason was the educational value it would give the rest of Greece and any other city that might consider turning against him. It was a lesson they learned well.

Our allies, the Phocians and the Plataeans went crazy and massacred anything that moved until Alexander sent Cleitus in to stop them – the survivors were sold. It was a crushing blow to any anti-Macedonian feelings still existing in Athens and they, once again, sent envoys to Alexander to 'congratulate' him on his victory and beg for mercy. Demosthenes was supposed to be a member of the party but backed off at the last moment and slunk away to hide in his humiliation. Instead of demanding the man be put on trial Alexander forgave him, to my utter astonishment.

"Is this wise, Xander?"

"He's a beaten man. I'll take no revenge on him."

I bit back a retort that he had felt no such qualms about Thebes, which had caused him less trouble en masse than this one man. Like his father before him, he wanted, ironically, to be accepted by Athens as a civilised Greek, not a sheep-herding barbarian from the north – it made him act as blindly as his father had where that city was concerned. So, Demosthenes lived on to fight another day.

Greece was now secure. It was time for the real adventure to begin.

TBC

A/N Next chapter is longer


	8. Chapter 8

A/N – Warning: some consentual sex in this chapter as well as rough language! I mention 'steel' here too which may not be historically accurate but it sounded better than 'iron'! Artistic license!

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Part Two

Chapter Eight

I had barely written those last words when the door to my room opened quietly and Alexander let himself in. Discreetly pulling another scroll forward I continued 'working'.

"It's late, Chiliarch. You should be asleep."

"There are a few details I need to work on for the Games – supplies and seating arrangements. You would not believe how – difficult – it is to get people to put their arses on a seat that won't 'insult their honour' because of its position or who they're sitting next to!"

He laughed, looking over my shoulder – thankfully the scroll I had grabbed was the seating plan for the opening ceremony. I wanted my memories kept private, even from him.

"I should leave all that to Eumenes, he loves that sort of thing – gives the man a sense of power."

I could hardly argue with that. The Secretary would be like a cat that fell in the cream jug so I agreed and offered him some wine. He shook his head, still staring at me intently.

"What?"

"Are you well? You're sweating." He reached down to brush a strand of hair from my forehead then pressed the back of his hand there. "Gods, Phai, you're burning up!"

"Am I? I feel chilled to the bone to be honest." But he was gone from my side to the small cabinet where I kept the medicines he gave me; ever since Meiza he had taken a professional interest in herbs and medicines and very often produced his own concoctions with which he treated us, officers and men alike, much to the doctors disgust. I had more faith in Alexander's remedies than theirs as, over the years, their efficacy had been proven. His present doctor, Glaucus, wasn't fit to treat horses let alone humans. Actually, I wouldn't let the man near my horse.

I watched him fiddling with bottles, mortar and pestle, murmuring to himself what he needed and how was he supposed to take care of me if I was too stubborn to even tell him I was ill. I chuckled – he sounded very much like my mother. Having pounded it all to his satisfaction he then mixed it with wine and brought it over to me.

"Drink."

I did as bid, swallowing the foul tasting potion whilst never taking my eyes off him. Pulling a face at him I handed back the empty cup.

"Now – get to bed."

"Yes – my king." It wasn't until I stood up that I realised how heavy my joints felt and how tired I was. "I'm getting old, Xander."

"No – you're working too hard. From now on give some of it to Eumenes or let Ankhtefi pass it out to your staff. They're more than capable – after all, you trained them."

I was too tired to argue and he was right. I had nothing else to prove to anyone. Time to rest.

Reaching the bed I slipped off my robe and climbed under the covers and furs, surprised when he did the same. Raising myself on one elbow I looked down at him.

"You have told that slithering eunuch of yours where you'll be this time haven't you, my love? He raised Hades the last time."

"I have left him with my itinerary for this night: visit Ptolemy and Thais and give them my gift for their new daughter; see the cook about tomorrow's feast; spend the rest of the evening with my Chiliarch in conversation and fucking him till morning – except the last is out because the object of my lust is running a fever."

"Exactly – so you should leave!"

"Nonsense. You've just been overdoing things as usual, my beautiful Phai. Sleep now and I promise you will feel better come the morrow."

"Beautiful?" I asked sleepily, snuggling down next to him. "I've not been that for many years. Too old, too scarred, too tired."

"Hephaestion Amyntoros you are the most beautiful thing in this world to me – scars or not, wrinkles or not. And a few grey hairs here and there make you look even more distinguished."

"All honourably earned in your service, my king. Especially the grey hairs."

"Be nice – or Doctor Alexander will prescribe a purge for you tomorrow."

"You wouldn't? You would! Wrinkles?"

"Go to sleep."

We fell silent, the potion he had given me was making my eyes feel heavy and close against my will.

"Xander?"

"Umm…"

"Do you _really_ think I'm still beautiful?"

"I swear it by all the gods, my love. I always will."

I could feel my lips curving in an idiotic smile at that as I finally surrendered to Hypnos.

The next morning my fever had abated but I still felt tired and so followed his commands, passing on the bulk of the organisation of the Games to Eumenes and Ankhtefi. I knew the Athenian would be far more parsimonious than I in the details and cost. Even after Alexander had burned down the man's tent by 'accident' to see how much wealth would be saved from the smouldering ruins, he had yet to understand that Alexander never stinted the gods. We also lost a massive amount of the archive in that little stunt which grieved me far more than the fact that Eumenes thought I had put Alexander up to it! After all, I had.

I gave instruction to Ankhtefi to ensure that sufficient money was spent not to make my King look like a miser. We have more than enough in the treasury to cover everything in gold twice over! It hasn't always been like that, certainly not in the year we finally crossed the Hellespont and invaded Asia.

Philip had been a rich man but all his wealth had gone on producing the best army in Greece and towards bribes. At his death Alexander inherited a depleted treasury and 500 talents of debt.

He was forced to realise his own private estate so that he could reward his loyal friends and supporters on his accession, especially those who had been exiled – it was a debt of honour to him. As for the war, he borrowed another 800 talents and set out to join Parmenion with 30,000 infantry and about 5000 cavalry.

As we crossed the Straits he helmed his own flagship; as boys we had sailed boats on the lagoon at Pella but this was not a boat and we were no longer playing. Halfway across he sacrificed a pure white bull to Poseidon, who accepted the offering and our crossing was accomplished smoothly with no upsets. My stomach was not so sanguine, especially when a sailor told me smooth crossings made the sickness worse. After, I was to find he was right when I commanded the fleet in the coastal waters down from Tyre to Egypt. I never did get my stomach under control but learnt only to eat on dry land. That first time I, and many others, were simply relieved to see the shore before us and Alexander, ever the performer, cast his spear before him as the ship beached – it was a sign to say he had come to conquer the land.

Before marching to join Parmenion we made a diversion to, where else, Troy. It had been a dream of ours since boyhood that we would visit the fabled city and honour the memories of Achilles and Patroclus. I had no idea what he had planned. No one questioned the fitness of this; every soldier understood the importance of Troy, it was in our blood and he was the descendant of Achilles after all. But that was not all he wanted to do – as well as honouring his ancestor he had decided his officers and men were to witness his public avowal to something else – me.

We had been lovers for nearly eight summers by then and our roles of Achilles and Patroclus were as familiar to us as our own shadows; there was even a tacit understanding of this by our Friends. Of the two of us I believed it less, being more pragmatic – Alexander never questioned it or his rivalry to Achilles. It was so much a part of him that the two could not be separated any longer. I was less comfortable in the role he had given me but I did not, nor do now, doubt his love for me, anymore than he doubts my own. We were two parts of a whole and Alexander wanted that clearly understood by everyone before we went any further – my position with him was to be made absolute in regard of the army and the King – they accepted it or lived with it, there were no alternatives as far as he was concerned.

Many did seek alternatives and acceptance was never as universal as he wanted. But no one said so to him; to me they felt no such obligation to protect my feelings.

To say what we expected to find at Troy would be difficult but what we saw was a disappointment to all. There was no great walled citadel but a small village surrounding a hill. The elders welcomed us (what else could they do?) and Alexander sacrificed at the temple of Athene, offering his own armour in place of that of Achilles which was kept there. He couldn't wear it. It was falling apart with age but the shield was still magnificent and worth his own armour in exchange.

The next day was to be the homage to the two Heroes. A select number of officers and men, some thirty in all, were chosen to take part in the ceremony whilst the rest would watch. Stripping ourselves of armour, chitons and boots we ran the half mile or so to the tombs positioned outside the city on another hill. Once there, pages brought forward two ornate wreaths of gold mixed with real flowers, handing one to the King and the other to me.

At his signal we both stepped forward, sweat running down our naked bodies, chests heaving a little from the exertions of the run and, kneeling, we placed our wreath on the tomb of Achilles for Alexander and Patroclus for me, before running a circuit around the tomb of the hero we had just honoured.

The men cheered us till they became hoarse – the officers clapped politely, except Ptolemy, Leonnatus and Nearchus who were grinning from ear to ear. I met Cleitus' eyes, so dark I could not make out the pupil, staring at me from a face ridged as stone. He knew what we had just done, as did Philotas and Craterus beside him.

Alexander had affirmed my relationship with him before all – I was Patroclus to his Achilles, no longer our secret, but public knowledge – and the gods help any man who denigrated our love to the King's face now. I was overwhelmed at the honour done me but also at the trust he had placed in me so publicly and swore I would never let him down or act in a way to lessen his belief in me as his Patroclus.

I did of course – I was merely human, not a divine hero of legend. But I have always stayed true to my intention that day, as did he. Neither of us could live up to it, that was all.

There was one last ceremony to perform before we left Troy for good; a private one, enacted near the tombs – we made love to each other. Even now I remember it as the most perfect night of my life and will till I die.

Gods, I'll be crying in a moment. Let me move on.

Joining with Parmenion we headed straight for the Persian forces which now included 50,000 Greek mercenaries under Memnon. This was, not only to Alexander but to all of us, treachery. The king had been fond of Memnon when he had been exiled in Alexander's childhood and taken refuge in Macedon.

That he now led thousands of Greeks against their own countrymen made Alexander madder than I had ever seen him and did not bode well for any of these men if they were taken prisoner. The Persians were fighting for their king and their homes – the Greeks against the reality at home and Alexander personally; to do this they'd rather fight by the side of an old enemy. Pure stupidity.

So was the fact that the Persian nobles, who all outranked their Greek hireling, refused to act on his very sound advise to destroy the crops in our path. This policy would have ended our campaign, certainly for that year, as we would have probably starved. Our good fortune that they did not, as was the fact that they had fewer troops than us. Only 15,000 of Memnon's men faced us at the Granicus River, the bulk of the Persian army not having been mobilised yet. Naturally the King of Kings was not there in person to swat an inconvenient fly from his shores.

Parmenion, having taken over as second-in-command from his son, commanded the left wing, the infantry. I was in the Companion Cavalry behind Alexander on the right wing as always.

If you want a move by move account of this, our first major battle in Asia, then I suggest you look for it from Ptolemy – I know he spent days afterwards talking to as many men as he could who had taken part in different locations of the battle. As for me, I concentrated on what was in front of me and behind, nothing else. My eyes locked on the double-plumed helmet of my King bobbing ahead of me as we crashed into the foe and joined the melee that is battle. I didn't even see Cleitus save his life, as I was desperately fighting for my own against two Persians, a deed I would thank him for but regret in other ways as he never let Alexander forget it.

The worst slaughter was amongst the Greek mercenaries – barely 2000 survived to be sent to hard labour in Macedon. Memnon himself escaped. I also understand that the Persian satrap who had ignored his advice lived long enough so he could take his own life rather than live with the disgrace.

The fly was still buzzing.

He buzzed along Western Asia Minor picking up Greek cities as easily as I had harvested the fallen apples in my father's orchard as a child – Sardis, Ephesus; in the one we replenished our treasury, in the latter the army was paraded through its streets to show the inhabitants that they were now under the protection, and rule, of a Greek leader.

Not all of it passed so pleasantly – in many cities oligarchies, backed by the Persians, had ruled with terror and greed. Once their city had been freed the vengeance began and the victims killed their previous oppressors without distinguishing between the guilty and the innocent. Alexander viewed the smashed bodies of the children at Ephesus with a face drained of blood, thin lipped. I knew what he was feeling then as I felt it myself – how could we condemn these people who had suffered torture, rape and murder at the hands of these oligarchs when we – I – had insisted upon the death of an innocent babe to safe-guard a king and a throne?

He restored the democracy, left a garrison and strictly forbade any further reprisals. It wasn't much but the death of Eurydike's son, in the end, saved many other children who would have died except for Alexander's standing order to spare non-combatants and not to inflict rape or theft on defeated populations. It wasn't always followed. The army became massive and unwieldy at times, but the number of murders and rapes declined rapidly once it was known he wasn't joking about executing his own troops if they broke this law. Discipline in his army was as absolute as you could get and he was the reason it behaved as well as it did. I have seen many a man brought before Alexander for some infringement – all he did on those occasions was to look the man in the eye and sigh; the culprit would look so ashamed that he had let down his king, realising that Alexander took each and everyone of these lapses as a personal indictment of his abilities as a commander. He genuinely ruled his army with love and, though they argued a good deal, it was a relationship that never entirely broke down. Culprits rarely came before him twice. Of course some couldn't, they had been executed.

And so we came to Caria.

All of Alexander's friends were intrigued to see the place that had caused us all so much pain. Pixodarus had died and had been succeeded by a pro-Persian kinsman. Both were usurpers, having taken the throne from the rightful queen, Ada, who had then set up her own power base in the harbour fortress of Alinda. This she surrendered to my king in return for his assistance in regaining her lost kingdom, which suited us fine.

Here started the first of the strange pseudo-mother relationships Alexander was to have with older women, which was amusing considering how quick he had been to leave his real one in Macedon. Perhaps he was looking for a surrogate; he certainly found two women who were far calmer than his own. Ada tended to forget he was not a child and sent him sumptuous clothing and exotic foods until it became embarrassing and quite a joke among the generals. Much of it was passed onto me. I had no end of trouble getting rid of it without him asking questions – I have never liked excessively ornate things, in either clothing or furnishings, whereas Alexander loves nothing more than a chance to dress up. The downside to this is he likes dressing me up too! Most times I can persuade him to calm it down, but not always.

"I like to see you looking the best of them all, Phai."

It did not pass unnoticed by Cleitus or Philotas, the latter of whom could hardly say anything as he was worse than Alexander in his elaborate fashions. Cleitus, on the other hand, stayed with his plain Greek attire and was proud of it. I wish I could have done the same.

The King's relationship with Queen Ada was made official when she formerly adopted him as her heir. What I would have given to have been at Pella when his letter reached Olympias advising her of that! Then again, I was having more than enough problems fending off her own letters to me which never seemed to be in the mail sack that got lost!

We took Miletus and then headed for Halicarnassus which was now commanded by our old nemesis, Memnon. He was beginning to be as annoying as Demosthenes. Alexander decided to fill in the huge moat surrounding the city and bring up siege towers; there were many fire-fights as the defenders made sorties to attack our men, but we finally completed the work and breached the walls. Here Alexander called a halt to offer them a final chance to surrender – the lesson of Thebes was bearing fruit. Unfortunately, Memnon had yet to learn it too – he set fire to the town at midnight then made good his escape.

Alexander was furious and I raced into the burning town with him and our men, arresting and executing any fire raisers we found, whilst pulling out the citizens to safety. The next morning we surveyed the damage and he asked me to work with his engineers and architects to draw up plans to rebuild.

For three days I tramped the city, measuring, planning and discussing its rebuilding; introducing more up to date sewers, a new bathing complex and of course temples – I hadn't had so much fun for a long time and my report was received by the King with genuine admiration and respect that warmed me inside, enough to allow me to ignore the sneers of the generals. We left a garrison there and re-installed Ada as Queen. The banquet that night was a lavish affair; it started off polite and dignified but soon deteriorated into a full Macedonian romp.

At some point in the evening I found myself outside the main banqueting hall with one of the female dancers, taking her up against the wall with more speed and less pleasure than my wine fuddled brain could register. When I had finished, she merely straightened her garments and glided off to find another 'client', leaving me unsure where I was and how I had got there. And my head felt very strange. A strong hand took hold of my chin and raised my face so I could look into laughing grey eyes.

"You don't look as if you enjoyed that much."

"Then you know more than I do – I need to piss."

His laughter was quiet, for which I was grateful, as he put a supporting arm about my waist and led me away to his rooms where he found me a pot to use. There is nothing so enjoyable in life than emptying a full bladder; it has so much to recommend it, leaving you feeling light and free of the anxiety that you're about to make a fool of yourself by urinating on your own feet.

"Better?"

"Much." I replied as I used a warm cloth to clean myself that a slave handed to me before they took it all away and the rest of the servants withdrew at a sign from my host.

I made no objection when I felt sure hands removing my clothing and leading me over to the bed. Lips crashed into mine, biting and sucking my lower lip, pushing wet muscle into my mouth then kissing down my neck and shoulder, latching onto a nipple until I groaned with the bolts of pleasure it was shooting through my body. He moved his demanding lips down further and further until he engulfed my nicely cleansed member in his mouth and I could no longer stop myself from thrusting up into the warm, tight throat, coming on a piercing cry. The mouth was withdrawn from me and I actually whimpered at the loss!

"I think you enjoyed that a lot more than the whore." He crooned in my ear as he bit at the lobe and then my neck.

I tore then at his own robe until my hands felt smooth skin and hard muscle, wrapping my legs around him. "Please." I begged him.

He laughed, taking my lips again in a bruising kiss before reaching for the oil he had left on the table beside the bed. Coating his fingers liberally he slowly pushed them into me, probing and caressing me inside. I arched up into the intruding digits as he probed around to find that certain spot of pleasure there. When he found it, I cried out and he knew I was ready for something more 'substantial'.

He pushed into me gently, building up my need for him in a teasingly, deliberate way; my only revenge was to squeeze his ribs as hard as I could with my knees until he gasped in pain.

"Stop that!"

"Then get on with it – I'm desperate here!"

"You always are. Don't blame me if you can't sit tomorrow."

"Promises, promises. Ow!" he had shut me up by one vicious thrust that hit that sweet area in my ass again and I lost my vision for a few seconds. "Oh, gods that's so good."

Again and again he thrust into me until I was oblivious of everything except his hardness drilling into me and the tightness building up once more in my balls until I came in such a torrent that I thought it would never stop. Within me I felt him shudder as I clenched my muscles about him, squeezing his full length, loving the velvety softness of his skin around a core of steel. Then he came filling me with warm wetness that was delicious. He collapsed on top of me like a felled tree, sweaty and exhausted.

"So?" he asked somewhat breathless.

"So what?" I queried wondering why I always saw small lights before my eyes after orgasm when all the action was taking place between my legs. I wondered what reason Aristotle would give for the phenomena – somewhere there was a connection. And why did the lights get brighter when he…

"PHAI!"

"Sorry – I was wondering why what you were doing to my ass should make me see bright white lights. I was thinking of what Aristotle would say."

"You're going to write to Aristotle? 'Why is it when I get buggered it affects my eyes?' Can't wait to read that reply."

"I thought one of the reasons we came here was to explore and learn besides conquering? Or so you always tell me."

"It is – but I've been exploring you for some years now."

"Bored? Have you learned all there is to learn of me?"

"No. This is what I was asking you in the first place."

"Sorry?"

"Was I better than the bloody whore?"

I smiled up at him and stroked his bronze hair back as it fell over his face. "Couldn't you tell that from my reaction? I doubt anyone will ever move me the way you do, love."

"Good. I don't mind how many whores you bed or pages – but never fall in love with them Phaistion – I couldn't bear that."

"You can't command that, my king – emotions are one thing you have no control over."

He pulled out of me abruptly, hurting me, and sat on the bed beside me. "That's not the answer I want."

"Alexander – how can I promise you something like that? Neither of us know what will happen in the future or whom we will meet. You will marry, have children – do you promise me never to love your wife?"

"That's different and not what I mean. I – want – need to know I come first with you, always. As you will with me."

Reaching up I pulled his head down to me until our lips touched. "You will always be first in my heart, whoever I may love later, that much I can promise you."

He nodded and snuggled down in my arms and I started to drift off to sleep when I heard him murmur to himself: "I'll make sure you never fall in love with anyone – somehow."

A chill touched me at those words. They were no idle threat as I knew. I loved him with my very soul but had realised early on that to be loved by him in return was a perilous joy – he was too much his mother's son in this and that night taught me his love and need for me would be as stifling and controlling as Olympias' was for her son and had been for her husband. I had been given a warning and I would ignore it at my peril and that of any I loved.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

A/N – This chapter covers the Battle of the Issus and its aftermath. It also has the little incident in Alexander's tent _before_ the battle, as mentioned by Prof. Zimmerman. I have written it as a _homage_ to Moon71 whose beautiful story 'Joy and Health' captured this scene so brilliantly and cannot be bettered – so I haven't tried!

The Gordian Knot episode or its resolution is straight out of my own head!

Chapter Nine

The next year was taken up with campaigning and consolidating our control in the Western area of Asia. Parmenion was given his own independent command – both he and the King were more comfortable with this arrangement as Alexander had his own way of doing things that did not always sit well with the veteran General. Philotas took his father's place beside Alexander as second and as commander of the Companion Cavalry, much to his ego's delight.

Another myth came unravelled in Phrygia – the Gordian Knot. The legend went that the man who could find the end of an intricately wound leather thong wrapped around the axle of a cart would win the world – what else. I have seen writings of this incident by Kallisthenes and Aristobulus, as well as some who were not even there, saying he pulled the axle out or that Father Zeus sent a lightening bolt to direct his gaze to the end of the knot which Alexander dutifully grabbed and pulled. The one I like the best is that he simply slashed it open with his sword. What really happened?

He looked at it for a while, but not too long, then turning to the guides said "I'll conquer the world without the need of unravelling a knot" and then aimed a kick at it – the whole thing was so old that the this small amount of force cracked the worm eaten wood apart and the whole thing collapsed in front of our eyes! Hardly the stuff of legends but he had dealt with it and it became a part of his own myth.

Another anticlimax were the impenetrable Cilician Gates. We were expecting a hard, invigorating campaign for a change after a period of easy operations and many were looking forward to it. Unfortunately, as soon as they knew Alexander was there in person, they surrendered, his reputation having preceded him. Cleitus' language on hearing this cannot be repeated but it certainly was colourful and _very_ graphic.

Balancing this disappointment was the welcome news of the demise of our resident Greek pain in the ass, Memnon, whilst on campaign for his employer. Now we only had armies commanded by Persians to deal with and not someone who had spent enough years in Macedon to learn Philip's tactics.

Not that our tactics had remained static since Memnon's visit. Alexander was nothing if not innovative in the art of war and fully prepared to change the way he did things as experience showed him flaws or new terrains and types of enemy demanded such amendments. I think he also enjoyed coming up with surprising solutions to problems that would baffle his more hide- bound opponents. Here Cleitus was invaluable – he was a great drillmaster, able to train men to the exacting requirements of his king. In this he found good seconds in Craterus and Perdiccas.

Whilst they drilled, yelled themselves hoarse and generally made the men's life a misery, I was learning my job as logistics officer in charge of supplies and reconnaissance. This required a degree of organisation and administrative skills that Cleitus had no patience for but I loved the logic of it all and the challenge it presented. There was also a positive outcome at the end: full stomachs, well laid out camps and excellent intelligence of what lay ahead of us. To each his own. I might not be comparable to a Cleitus or a Craterus in how to place men in battle but none complained that they returned to a camp, after battle, to find tents raised, water available and food ready. That isn't to say the Generals ever thanked me either. But the men did.

We reached Tarsus after a hard march and I had set the camp near the River Cydnus, a stream that originated in the mountains. It was a perfect site but it nearly caused the death of the King, mainly due to his impatience.

Hot and tired after the march he dismounted from Bucephalus and, throwing off his helmet and cuirass, jumped into the stream to cool down. He cooled alright – coming out of the snow water with cramp and a bad chill that got worse alarmingly quickly. His personal physician, Philippos, saved his life in bizarre circumstances.

Parmenion had intercepted several letters from Darius that implicated Alexandros of Lyncestis and Philippos in treason. The Lyncestian Prince commanded the powerful Thracian cavalry in our army and was therefore in charge of an important offensive weapon. As to the doctor, Alexander had known him all his life. One he placed under surveillance, the other proved himself without any prompting at Tarsus – the medicine could have so easily been poisoned; it was a strong purge instead. I think Alexander would have preferred the poison given a choice.

The following days were a nightmare watching him sweat, then cramp, then shit and all accompanied by growls, howls, snarls and a bloody foul temper – Alexander was not a good patient. I noticed how, when he was particularly aggressive, all his other 'friends' found themselves _very_ busy with making sure the army didn't – what? Disappear? They were happy then to leave him in my care, which was not always gentle or sympathetic. One night he refused to take any more medicine and I, not having slept more than three hours out of forty-eight, couldn't be bothered to argue it out with him – so I punched him instead and he had a black eye to add to his troubles. But he took the medicine.

Once back on his feet we spent the time in more mopping up operations of small towns or tribes who wouldn't accept our rule to protect our flanks and our lines of communication when we moved on again to find the Persian army. It was not long before we heard news that it was on the move and being led by Darius himself this time. Leaving the sick and wounded at a field hospital near the River Issus to recuperate we set out south to meet him at last.

Only he wasn't there. He had marched past us going north so we hastily retraced our steps to the Issus. What we found there was beyond belief and I still have nightmares of what I saw on our return.

The Persians, the gods only know whether it was on Darius' orders, had either killed or mutilated every man we had left there; hacking off hands and feet, gauging out eyes and branding the few survivors. It was the only time I ever saw Alexander and Cleitus weep together openly, as much as I could see through my own tears. This wasn't war, it was confirmation of everything that Aristotle had told us about their barbarity and senseless cruelty, in complete contrast to what we had seen of them so far – they appeared civilised and intelligent with much we could learn.

However, the butchery at the Issus left a more lasting legacy with a great many of the army and certainly the older Generals, a belief that no Persian could be trusted nor treated as a friend, certainly not an equal. Macedonians will kill when angry and are always ready for a fight but the deliberate mutilation of defenceless men? No. This prejudice became so deep rooted in some that Alexander never could fully remove it from the men's souls, however much he tried and commanded. The eunuchs, the palaces, the wealth and the history paled to nothing when they looked at a comrade in arms whose nose had been hacked off at the Issus.

I understood their feelings and concerns – I shared them myself. It took a forceful effort on my part to even talk politely to any Persian that had fought in that army. But the perpetrators were not typical of the Asians we meet as our path led deeper into Persia; the majority were like us in many ways, merely wanting to get on in the world and survive. I made many friends amongst them but I never lost, deep, down that horror.

What soon became apparent was Darius was no general – he had left a perfect position on the plain to confront us in a restricted area bounded by a river and the sea. Parmenion had rejoined us with his troops and they took the left wing, facing the Persian cavalry – but his flank was on the beach. In the centre Craterus and his phalanx faced the remaining Greek mercenaries and Alexander took the right, again, with the Companion cavalry. Sending reinforcements to Parmenion, the King waited until Craterus finally started to push the Greeks back after a truly vicious fight, as is always the same when you fight your own countrymen, and then he charged across the river, smashing into the Persian flank – his target was simple, the Royal Guard of the King of Kings, the Immortals in the midst of which stood Darius himself. No one could miss him; he was as tall as some of the Celts we had encountered back at the Danube and was standing in an ornate chariot.

Alexander saw him, threw back his head, raised the paean and led us in the charge – yelling the battle cry back to our king, I could feel the blood coursing through my veins, heart beating hard against my cuirass, exalted beyond measure – we could do anything when Alexander led us!

Darius thought the same for when he saw Alexander thundering down on him through the dust, he ran and took the Persian centre with him in a total rout. More died then than in the battle, men who had not even been committed to the fight were trampled to death or pushed off precipices into the sea by their terrified compatriots being pursued by howling Macedonians. At this point the commander facing Parmenion also decided there was no point in wasting further lives and retreated. His name was Narbarzanes – he was a man we were to meet again.

Alexander had won again though he was bitterly disappointed he hadn't taken or killed Darius. Sitting on my horse, catching my breath, I listened to him calling the Great King a coward, before he rode off to check on Parmenion and Craterus. I walked my horse back towards our camp, dismounting stiffly only to be nearly sent flying flat on my face by Cleitus walloping me on the back in glee. I turned to look at him sourly, knowing his blood splattered face and armour would be mirrored in my own appearance.

"That's what I call a fight! Pity the churl ran. Well, Athenian, it looks as if you didn't curse us this morning after all!" and he roared with laughter as I felt my own blood rushing to my cheeks.

Trust him to bring up that mornings 'little' incident and throw it in my face.

As always before a battle Alexander spent the evening with his Generals going over the plans for the morrow. Not being part of the Staff, I shuffled about outside until they had all left then slipped into his tent for a small supper with him. He discussed the same plans with me all over again until I realised he had begun to repeat himself.

"Alexander, you need to sleep."

"I'm too excited, Phai. This battle is important – I must defeat him here or else we might as well go home!"

"I know. But he's hardly proven himself a strategist, has he with the placements my scouts noted. You have an army that's been fighting for decades whereas his men are mainly conscripts, forced to come here. That's our strength."

"And?" he looked at me, head cocked to the side, a slight pout on his lips. I sighed.

"And they don't have you leading them, oh Great King. Genius of battle! Beloved of Zeus! The apple of his doting mother's eye, or eyes!"

"Oh, shut up." He laughed, pouncing on me so fast I fell off my stool and we started rolling about the floor in mock play like schoolboys until the physical contact led, naturally, onto something else. Our lovemaking was short, if vigorous, and we both fell asleep in a heap on the small campaign cot.

It was still dark when I awoke alone on the bed. Alexander never could sleep long and he had obviously got up to go over the plans once more. I needed to return to my own tent and start arming anyway. Groping about I found my boots and cloak but no chiton, which I must have 'lost' in the ante-room of his tent. Wrapping the cloak about me and scraping a hand through my tousled hair, I ducked through the partition, mumbling sleepily "Health to you Alexander, I'll…"

I never finished the sentence as the sharp intake of breath brought my head up, from where I was looking for my discarded chiton, to look straight into the shocked faces of six of the Staff, including Parmenion, Philotas and Cleitus. He would have to be there!

"What do you mean by that? Are you saying our King will die?"

I stood there, mouthing air like a beached fish, and looked over to Alexander; he was staring down at his desk trying very hard not to laugh at their faces and my embarrassment, but knew their superstitious worries needed to be placated.

"He meant no such thing, Parmenion. In wishing me 'health' in the morning, as opposed to 'joy', he means I will be victorious and live to the end of the day."

"Oh, I see." Said the old general, his fears allayed.

I gave them all a weak smile whilst surreptitiously picking up my errant clothing and headed out of the tents doorway. As I slithered past them I noticed Cleitus' lips twitch and Philotas' curve in a sneer whilst at the same time trying to look beneath my cloak – he was seated and had a good view. My face burning I hared back to my tent, not sure whether I intended to commit suicide or let the Persians do it for me!

Going to the horse lines I retrieved Aries from the groom and lead him away until I reached Alexander and Bucephalus. The sacrifice had gone well but I could see the men about me looked tense, as I did, but for a different reason. They knew how many men they faced today and it was a daunting proposition at best. Catching my king's eye I walked over to him.

"I am so sorry about this morning, Alexander."

"It all worked out well enough, though I thought Parmenion was going to have a fit!" his grin was automatic as was my answering one.

"Next time can you undress me in your sleeping area – it wasvery embarrassing trying to hide my chiton with the eyes of six Generals, not to mention two pages, following my every move."

"Oh, I think they were more interested in what you were wearing under the cloak – or not. If I thought parading you naked before them each council session would shut them up as quickly as it did today, I'd have done it sooner."

"Alexander!"

He laughed then, a sound of such pure joy and mischief that I couldn't stay angered and joined in. Those tense faces about us saw their king laughing and happy and their own faces relaxed as the tension eased away. Patting me swiftly on the arm, he mounted his horse, waved to the men and then rode off to make the final inspection of his forces whilst I took my place in the cavalry on the right.

Alexander did not pursue Darius for long, returning to the battlefield soon after the man had fled. The Great King left so quickly, abandoning his gold chariot for the speedier escape a horse could provide that he had no time to pack up his belongings – including his tent, his bath and his family! These all now fell into the hands of his enemy who wandered through the opulence of the tent (big enough to house his own command tent and at least all those of the generals) his eyes hardly taking it all in. The bath was huge. The throne was huge, making him look like a child when he clambered up on it – he never sat on it again. And then there were the women.

Darius and his nobles, so cock sure of their victory because they out numbered the little 'upstart', had hauled along on campaign their wives, children and harems. Alexander sent Leonnatus to the Royal Harem tent to assure them that Darius had not been killed, as we heard their wailing the moment we entered the camp, and that he would accord them the same courtesy as if they were his own family. This last pronouncement should not have surprised his Staff, considering how he had always treated women, but it did – they expected him to take the Queen, at least, as his mistress, particularly as she was rumoured to be the 'most beautiful woman in all Asia'. He didn't answer that in that case, he would stay away least he be tempted, as Kallisthenes reported, but merely smiled and shook his head. To have done so would have been too close to rape in his eyes. He never refused love when freely offered but would never take it by force. Besides, even then I sensed he had a plan for the Royal Family that neither Parmenion nor Cleitus would have understood.

He was less sensitive about the harems of the nobles we found there, passing out they're occupants as rewards to his men and as gifts to the officers he commended and promoted after the battle: Craterus and Perdiccas were placed on the Staff; Ptolemy became a general and was given joint command of the Thracian cavalry, as well as orders to watch Alexandros. And I, finally, made it to general too – if I was a sycophant the rewards were a long time coming!

The promotion gave me far better accommodation than I had had before; he gave me the next best tent to the Great King's he could find in the Persian camp, with its own bathing area, sleeping chamber and office space. I was also given three splendid Nissian horses, much to the ageing Aries mortification – he managed to bite their fetlocks, but couldn't reach anything else, until I told the grooms to keep them parted; he was ready for honourable retirement anyway. Alexander gave me two hunting dogs, a trunk load of Persian silks, a new dinner service and four slaves. The one thing I didn't get was a woman.

"Why?"

"Are you that disappointed?"

"Simply curious – you've given me far more than any of the senior generals…"

"They got the same, only in hard currency."

"…except for the harem handout. Why?"

He looked carefully at my face and realised that I was quite put out by it – not because I was that desperate for a female in my life, but how it would look to the others. It's a weakness but I am touchy about my pride and it gets me into a lot of hot water. Which was where Alexander was when we had this conversation and a bath is the not the easiest defensible position you can be in.

"I didn't give you one because you're not going to be about very soon to use one, unless you wish to drag a woman about with you when you go searching up supplies."

"Now that makes sense!"

I went to my huge tent and slept, alone, but had a restless night. Despite sending Leonnatus to them the royal women wailed all night; at one point I swore I heard Cleitus roaring to 'shut them up or kill the bitches' – how I seconded that motion!

So I was surprised the following morning to receive a message from my King: "Full dress armour, my tent (Darius') in half an hour." Which was where I was as ordered, watching him taking _another_ bath before he was dressed in his best armour to match my own. Nodding to me, he led me through a canvas tunnel, followed by a number of similarly dressed officers.

"Where are we going, my King?"

"To visit the Queen, or more correctly, the King's Mother, Sisygambis. Apparently they didn't believe Leonnatus yesterday, so we are going to assure them I spoke the truth."

"Why am I going with you? Surely Parmenion…"

"I need someone who won't scare them to death." I looked behind me and noticed none of the 'old guard' was there. "Besides I want you there. You're much the prettiest general I have. Ouch! Punching your king in Persia is treason."

"Is that so?"

We entered the main audience chamber of the harem tent (the tunnel was there for privacy, whether of the women or the king I wasn't sure) and I got my first view of a breed of person that I was to see far too much of from then on – eunuchs.

Some were fat and bald; others lithe and beautiful, so much so I had difficulty differentiating between them and the harem ladies. Quite a few of the officers never worried about the distinction between the two either would do. None of them looked you in the face, which I found disconcerting. From a curtained doorway two eunuchs in more elaborate attire held back the silk hanging to allow access to the chamber we stood in by three women and two children.

The older, a dignified woman of many years with iron grey hair pulled away from a strong face that had once been beautiful flicked her gaze from Alexander to me and back again. Then she turned fully to me and prostrated herself before me!

Instinctively I stepped back as she started to speak to me, darting a look at Alexander, who only seemed amused and I distinctly heard snickers coming from the officers behind me, which the King silenced with a look. The eunuchs, on the other hand, were as horrified as me. One bent and whispered urgently to her and she jerked her head up, looking from me to Alexander again, not with fear, but realisation that she may have signed her own family's death warrants merely left her resigned to her fate.

She turned to him and began to apologise but he took a step towards the old woman and raised her to her feet with words the interpreter found as perplexing as did the Macedonians behind me.

"Never mind mother, you made no mistake. He too is Alexander."

What exactly she made of that I never found out but he was then introduced to the two daughters of Darius and his small son, who stomped forward with no fear to play with Alexander's sword. Reaching down to pick the child up, the young boy put his arms around his neck and started chattering in Persian. Laughing, the King turned to me and said:

"Pity his father didn't take after the grandmother as his son so obviously does!"

"Yes, my King. But then we may not have beaten him so readily."

"True Hephaestion. Very true."

Using the interpreter now Alexander re-assured them they would be treated with all the respect their royal status required. The two girls, barely sixteen and twelve to my eye, wept in relief – they had obviously expected rape. I could tell Alexander liked the old woman, Sisygambis and he took to visiting her regularly. Their friendship grew and prospered, especially as his treatment of her family was as promised – even the boy was spared against the insistence of some officers, though not, this time, by me.

We saw Queen Stateira once. She was beautiful and tall – very tall, as she was her husband's sister. Perhaps it's the cynic in me but I often wonder if he would have refrained from taking her if she had been a bit shorter. It was apparent on that quick visit that she was pregnant and it was with great sorrow that, six months later, he was informed of her death in childbirth, the child dying also. Alexander was distraught and I couldn't for the life of me see why until I read a scroll he had left open on his desk – it was Xenophon's _Life of_ _Cyrus_ in which the Persian king had returned the wife of an enemy, unmolested, when her husband surrendered and did obeisance to him as his overlord.

So _that_ was what it was all about; playing the myths again. Oh, how he would have loved that – Darius defeated in fair combat and bowing to him in surrender, then he would lead out his lovely wife to him and reunite them. Perfect ending. Sometimes I doubt my Alexander truly lives in the real world.

However, it was not to be and she was buried with all due ceremony. It did send a message to others who were intelligent enough to read it that he was not going to stop at freeing the Greek cities in Asia from their Persian overlords but was preparing to take it all. The business with Stateira was proof of that at least. I knew it because he told me.

"I can do so much more here, Phai, than merely freeing a few cities. We have an opportunity to unite this wealth and power under one leader."

"For why?"

"Because I _know_ I can do it! If there was no wars here think of the riches the people could earn. It would be the beginning of an empire of the mind as well as material things. We could spread Greek culture over the world."

"Whether they wanted it or not. And of course you would become rich in the process."

"And I'd get very rich in the process! It would be quite a legacy, don't you think? Rival Herakles himself."

"Yes – my King. Shall I request one of the servants to empty your piss pot on my way out – Sire?"

"No – you can damn well take it yourself for that insolence!"

Our eyes flashed at each other a moment, then he groaned and laughed. "I can always rely on you to bring me back to earth, can't I?"

"Yes, but only when necessary. Sire."

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

A/N – Barsine gets short shift here, I'm afraid, as I am unconvinced by Plutarch in this regard for too many reasons to go into – feel free to disagree! This is a fairly short chapter as the next two are huge.

Chapter Ten

Darius had not completely forgotten his family and soon a demand of Alexander's terms for their release was received – along with a diatribe against us, and saying it was the gods that made him lose not my king's ability. This did not endear the man to my lover who replied he'd take as much of his empire as he wanted and that Darius could have his family back – if he came to collect them in person! Alexander won that fight too.

He was also reunited with an old friend, found amongst the women of the harem – Barsine, daughter of the Persian Artabazus. The satrap had been exiled when Alexander was very young and had been given refuge by Philip for himself, his family and a few other nobles; the young Prince had gotten on very well with the whole tribe and to find Barsine, his elder by a dozen years was both a delight and a regret – she was the widow of Memnon.

She was lovely but not young, having two children by her husband. Alexander treated her with deference for herself but more for who her father was; there was every chance the old man could be brought over to our side as we progressed on the campaign. In view of this, my King decided to send her and her children to safety in Halicarnassus but the lady herself, much to his surprise and not a little annoyance, rejected this. Alexander never set excessive store by his rank but there was a line people did not cross, and refusing his command, even when couched nicely as a 'suggestion', rarely boded well for continued good health. Women and children were the only ones who regularly got away with it – oh, and of course, me.

Her reason was that one of his officers, Seleucus, had been visiting her and she insisted on staying with him. What was the merit in Alexander arguing with it? His main insistence, as he pointed out to Seleucus was to ensure her safety for her father; other than that she may do as she pleased. I found her choice very interesting as this officer was much like Alexander physically, bit taller with same colouring but more close to her own age. It left me wondering.

Parmenion was sent off on another independent command to secure Damascus and I spent four hectic weeks riding about garnering supplies, setting up forward depots of food and weapons, as we marched on through the Levant towards Sidon. It was during this period that I re-arranged our scouts into a more cohesive force for reconnaissance and also to include the spies who were used to infiltrate any upcoming, possibly hostile, cities. This intelligence allowed us time to decide whether we would need to talk or to fight and gave my king an advantage he was never slow to use. The ones I sent into Sidon reported that the city leaders were more than willing to surrender. Alexander sent a more official delegation, led by myself, to discuss their terms. The surrender was completed quickly and without a hitch. I was then sent out on another supply run.

When I returned after two gruelling weeks, only wanting a bath, sleep and not to sit a horse again for a few days, I was surprised to be told he was sending me back to Sidon.

"I have a special mission for you. They have asked me to appoint a king for them, as they had a monarchy before the Persians, and like that form of government. I can't spare you away from my side, so you can only go and choose another for them."

At first I thought he was joking with me but I looked into those amazing eyes and saw he spoke true. He actually thought I was good enough to be a king! A lump came to my throat; I did not want to be a king but that he believed I could be was all I needed. I was also gratified he had such trust in my judgement that he was prepared to show it in such an open way.

"I will find a king worthy of them but mainly of you – my King."

After all, how hard could it be?

Bloody hard as it turned out. From the moment I set foot in Sidon I was surrounded by men all baying: 'Choose me!' They were all rich, of noble families and decidedly more concerned with their own ambitions rather than the good of the state. All except my host, a modest, timid man, who never put himself forward in case he got yelled at by the other donkeys.

Alexander's words came back to me at a particularly tiresome banquet, where my ear had been talked off by at least twenty men, none of whose names or faces I remembered, that they had once had a monarchy here. Turning to my host I asked him, not very hopefully, whether there were any surviving members of the old royal family. To my surprise he said there was; a man of moderate means who had lived by keeping his head down and away from politics. I arranged for him to take me to see the man the next day and went to bed.

His name was barely pronounceable – Abdalongmus – unless you said it very slowly; but then he couldn't quite grasp how to say mine either, so it gave us an immediate bond through laughter. I liked the man, he was self-effacing but not introvert, did not push himself forward but never hung back either. Our talk in his beautiful garden was very pleasant and I learned a good deal about roses, which were his passion.

As he belonged to no political clique within the city he was acceptable to the majority. Others accepted him only grudgingly but they shut up at the sight of my escort, especially by me chosen for their impressive size and scary faces; I saw him installed as king before I left. I returned to Alexander with my report and an invitation from the king to his overlord to attend a lion hunt. Naturally he accepted and we joined Abdalongmus a few weeks later, taking most of the Staff with us. Ptolemy stayed home to mind the children.

It was a glorious hunt; hard riding and frantic as the lion we cornered was young, quick and cunning. Almost with regret we finally brought him to bay in a small gully off a river and Alexander struck home with his spear, killing the beast outright, as his bravery deserved. The king of Sidon declined, gracefully, to accept the lion's skin and offered it to my king instead who, just as gracefully, took it. He's had it turned into a headdress, which he wears on religious occasions in honour of Herakles, or at banquets when the drinking has turned heavy. He also wears it when we are alone…

After the hunt we were invited to a banquet and I was pleased to see the two kings getting on so well. I had no such compatible company seated beside me, only Cleitus – still wet from his bath and smelling, I could swear, of roses! He was laughing at Philotas' antics with his new mistress, Antigone, who was deftly evading his wandering hands - then he turned his attention to me.

" Your new creation knows how to throw as good a feast as he does a hunt, Hephaestion. A servant in the morning and king by the afternoon! Now that is quick promotion."

"Abdalonymus was no servant."

"I heard he was some noble's gardener when you picked him up and hailed him King!"

"I met him _in_ a garden, you moron; his own."

"I like my version better, Athenian."

"Cleitus – why don't you go find a nice, big, snake and shove it where Olympias' is rumoured to do, or at least the closest equivalent hole you have!"

"Only if you show me how."

By now our heads were almost touching and I looked into his rather beautiful brown eyes for a drawn out moment, his smirk broadening as he revelled in my supposed embarrassment, before I replied.

"Very well. But you get the snake. Shall we go?" and I sat up on the couch as if readying to leave.

The look on his face was priceless. First his jaw dropped; then his eyes bulged and finally he nearly fell off the couch in his hurry to be somewhere else, followed by my laughter. Vengeance can be _so_ sweet.

For weeks after I took every opportunity to rub it in by 'hissing' at him whenever we met or were together; at Staff meetings, passing him in the camp or when I strolled past him to take my seat beside the King at dinner. Each time I did it he growled an obscenity at me – I was paying him back for years of snide, hurtful remarks and I loved it.

Naturally Alexander noticed and was intensely curious.

"Are you going to tell me why you keep hissing at Cleitus every time you meet?"

I thought about it.

"No. I don't think I am." I said and walked off whistling the tune to a particularly bawdy song that was doing the rounds of the camp at that time.

We left Sidon and continued south to our next objective. Alexander had decided against a war at sea – he was no admiral and freely admitted it. So his plan was to destroy the Persian fleet's ability to replenish supplies by taking every sea port down the coast all the way to Egypt. It was not accepted immediately by the Staff because Darius was still out there, though not moving as far as we could tell, having headed back to Babylon; Parmenion was watch dog for him.

Reading the reports I was getting from my scouts I realised the enemy navy was far more of an immediate threat than their king was. Alexander and I planned our campaign of attrition very carefully. It was not a speedy solution but one, I hoped, which would finish off any threat from the sea for good. Besides, it also meant that Alexander could take control of more territories to protect our communications back to Macedon – and further his dream. I was always mindful of that.

The next port of call, therefore, was Tyre. It was to be a turning point in this war in more ways than one.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

A/N – This covers the two main sieges of Tyre and Gaza. The story of Betis being dragged behind a chariot is not included as I am unconvinced that Alexander, who was out of action at the end of the siege, would be so un-Homeric. See Renault for this.I have also taken the fact that Macedonians speared or stoned people in executions, using crucifixion as a means of display only; it was the Roman's who used as their main form of execution – but feel free to disagree.

Chapter Eleven

The whole island of Tyre was a fortress, surrounded by walls 150 feet high and separated from the mainland by a wide channel. It would be a challenge, certainly, but Alexander knew that here, if they would not surrender, we could be held up for sometime. Diplomacy first then.

A delegation from the city met us with a message saying they would acknowledge him and follow his orders. That was easy. Too easy – the men were calm and polite but none would meet my eyes when I spoke to them. It was a gut feeling shared by Alexander.

"Thank you. In that case I would like to make sacrifice at your temple of Melkart – I understand that is your name for our Herakles. He was one of my ancestors and I wish to do honour to him."

The envoys muttered and said they would relay the request and hastily left. Next day a refusal was sent – they could not let any Macedonian in their gates for security but, they promised, no Persian would be allowed to enter either. Yes, and my Aries is Pegasus in disguise.

In the war council that Alexander called I attended for the first time as a siege requires specialist supplies and equipment. No one there argued against the fact that Tyre had now to be taken by force. It was too dangerous to leave in our rear; the harbour was open to the Persian fleet and could be used to harass either Macedon, itself in support of the Spartans who were making yapping noises at Antipater, or us as we marched on to Egypt. We had already received a request from that ancient land to come and free them. They loathed Persia with a cultured vengeance.

"I hope you appreciate, my friends, this will not be easy. It will cost a good many lives. I will send a formal delegation to them to try and persuade them from this foolishness. Hephaestion, you will lead it."

"Yes – my King."

I hand picked the other five men who were to accompany me, all good linguists and experienced in such matters – three of them had accompanied me to Sidon so I knew we worked well together; my deputy was Solon a native of Pella who I had known for many years, a middle aged man who was one of the few officers who had brought his wife with him – Acte refused to stay at home. This was the second time Alexander had shown his confidence in my abilities on an important mission before the Staff and I was more determined than ever to succeed in this one. Tyre was going to cause the deaths of many good men if I failed.

That evening we had a small feast to show any Tyrian spies that we weren't going anywhere soon nor were we scared. I ate chicken covered in a new sauce; it was delicious. The evening passed pleasantly, no one actually started a fight and I went to my bed fairly early to get a good night's sleep for the following day – I would need all my wits about me on this one. My stomach felt heavy and Alexander joked I was so greedy when chicken was served.

"It will be the death of you one day, my Phai."

In the hours before dawn I began to believe he had had a premonition. I had terrible pains in my stomach and cramps in my gut. Eventually I was sick and then the diarrhoea began and would not stop for hours. If it wasn't one end it was the other, my body chilled as well by the sweat pouring off me. Philippos announced, after examining me, that I had an "upset stomach and was in no state to go on embassy."

"Oh, thank you." I croaked. "I would never have come to that conclusion by myself."

"Phai!"

I couldn't argue with them as I needed to crap badly at that moment. Alexander assured me it wasn't poison.

"You fed the dogs off your plate and they're both fine."

"That makes me feel _so_ much better!"

Solon and the team left for Tyre whilst I slept off a potion given to me by the doctor – the sickness and diarrhoea had eased and Philippos was making me drink fluids regularly, but no solids for a whole day, which was no hardship as the thought of food was enough to make me feel ill.

I was dozing fitfully, worrying about my men. Alexander was near the city walls waiting for the embassy's return. Suddenly I woke up in a sweat. There was utter silence. Two of my pages, Hero and Damon, were sitting quietly beside me, so it was nothing they had done that roused me. Then we all heard the ground swell of noise building to a roar as if the whole army was screaming. I sat up, wide eyed, every sense on alert, straining to hear. Had something happened to the King? What else could unsettle the army so. My mouth went dry and my throat constricted as I tried to give Damon the order to go find out what was happening.

Ptolemy rushed in then, his face ashen, his breath rapid as if he had been running.

"They killed them, Hephaestion – they killed them!"

My men – dead? "How?"

"Alexander and the Staff were watching. A Tyrian on the walls yelled they had received his terms and this was their reply. Then they led Solon and the others up onto the wall and killed them before our eyes – the bodies were thrown into the sea."

I couldn't cry. Why couldn't I cry? They were my men; slaughtered like animals, against every rule of war there was! Oh, Zeus, Alexander!

"Hero, help me up. Now boy!"

He jerked up to assist me but I only got to a sitting position with one leg off the bed when Cleitus burst in to the tent.

"Hephaestion! You're…gods!" He stared upwards, raking his hands through his hair. "They're dead. Why weren't you with them?"

"I was taken ill last night. Sorry to disappoint you, General."

The brown eyes locked onto mine and what I saw there was not contempt or disappointment – it was pain. Without saying another word he swung about and left the tent. Ptolemy looked at me in as much shock as I evidently was, but I needed to get to Alexander – he would be desperate and furious about the deaths of men he had sent into danger and my place was with him.

With the help of the pages and Ptolemy, I dressed and, leaning on my fellow general, made my way to the command tent. The whole camp was heaving like a hill of furious ants. Whatever the Tyrians expected from their butchery they could never have realised what fury was about to be unleashed against them. It took us months but we taught them that lesson, one they never forgot – those that we allowed to survive.

Alexander was pacing the tent giving orders in a crisp, business like manner – but I saw his hands shaking. On one circuit he brought up in front of me.

"What are you doing out of bed, General? Go back there."

"You need me, sire."

"Yes – a siege needs the hard work of a great logistics officer – one who is _fully_ fit and won't fall ill on me."

He spoke sense and I did not argue as my legs were about to give out. He motioned for Ptolemy to take me back to my tent and then return for his own orders.

Once back in my bed I sent Damon to see if Acte needed anything immediately and if she was able to come and see me. Not long after he had left, he returned with Solon's widow. She was a small, lovely woman, a decade older than myself; Acte always reminded me of my eldest sister. What could I say to her? We looked at each other and all we felt was said in silence.

"I can arrange for you to be sent home if that is your wish."

"No, my lord. There is nothing for me there."

"Then what? You will be taken care of I assure you…"

"I would ask to stay here, my lord."

"And do what?"

"Whatever I can to assist the King by assisting you. Solon – he taught me my letters and how to read; I can help you in the administration…"

I was too tired and full of grief to be startled by her words and accepted her offer. At least I would be able to give her my protection. I feel into a dreamless sleep after she left.

I was woken in the darkest part of the night by hands touching my face, tracing it feature by feature as if their fingertips were trying to memorise it. Whatever he had been doing, that unique scent never left his body and I opened my eyes to look into the gloom of the tent, lit only by a single oil lamp, and see his eyes unnaturally bright from the tears in them.

"I've sacrificed to the gods tonight – asking for their continued favour…"

"Alexander – it was not your fault. Don't do this to yourself, my love." I whispered, brushing his soft hair with my hand.

His head jerked up, knocking my hand away abruptly.

"The men? Gods – Phai – you don't – I was sending you in there! If you hadn't been taken ill, you would have been one of the bodies the divers have just fished out! When they were being killed, each one – I saw you, you."

I started shaking uncontrollably. All of the day I had pushed that very thought from my mind into its deepest recess, not daring to let it out: the relief that I was alive and someone else had died. I had also refused to acknowledge to myself what Xander must have been going through all day, his terror for me and his need not to show it to anyone.

"Oh, Xander, I'm sorry; I'm sorry…"

"Ssh. The gods were with me today, at least partly – they didn't take you from me. That's why I sacrificed, in gratitude for your life. I shall give all honours to Solon and the others tomorrow and send their families all the wealth they will ever need, though I doubt it will truly ease their grief, only their material burdens. I still have you, that's all I ever ask for."

We slept the remainder of the night in each other's arms, taking solace and strength from the other. It was the best medicine either of us could have at that moment.

The next day he started work on the mole, supervising it himself and shouting encouragement to the carriers, giving prizes to those men whom he saw working the most fearlessly and best. Once it had progressed far enough into the channel for it to come into bowshot range from their walls, I devised with him towers of wood and hide which could be pushed out onto the mole; archers could use it as a firing platform and the workers as a shelter from enemy retaliation, dashing out when it was clear to dump their load of rocks and soil into the channel.

The Tyrians countered by sending a fire ship with cauldron's of burning pitch high up in its yards to ram the mole and burn down the towers – any men left inside were burned alive.

They were clever bastards. Well, we would match them. Undeterred Alexander ordered new towers to be built and the work to continue. Now that we were getting closer to the deeper part of the channel our enemy could bring their ships to bear. We needed our own fleet to counter it so Alexander and I went back to Sidon.

During the few weeks it would take to raise a fleet, he took the opportunity to subdue a number of rebellious local tribes. I was deep in discussion with representatives from another island, Cyrus; Abdalonymus acted as host and was of great help to me and my king. It did my ego no end of good to see how well he was performing as king for the people of Sidon.

By the time Alexander returned I had a fleet of two hundred ships, one hundred and twenty of which were Cypriot vessels. My king was ecstatic; he had subdued all the local malcontents in his small campaign – as well as adding another 'legend' to his haul. On a cold night in the mountains his old pedagogue, Lysimachus (who had insisted on accompanying him) complained of the cold so Alexander raced off to steal a fire brand from the enemy's camp fire. A lovely story, I said, but what had stopped him from lighting his own fire? He just winked at me.

We sailed back to Tyre ready for a sea battle, Alexander's ship taking the point closest to the walls, and therefore in the most danger. But the Tyrians refused the bait, closing their harbour with a boom of ships. It was back to the hard slog of the mole then but the ships would come in handy. Putting catapults aboard I was to harass the defenders on their weak, seaward side and keep them busy whilst he increased work on the mole. He gave me Cleitus to assist me.

The Tyrians countered by throwing rocks and boulders at us, so the ships had to kept too far off to shoot effectively. Alexander then had the idea of harvesting those self same missiles to use on the mole! This involved my ships having to anchor whilst we hauled up the boulders and it left us vulnerable to attack from missiles above and divers cutting our anchor cables below; undaunted, we replaced cables with chains – which stopped the cutting but not the damn rocks falling.

"Pity they can't aim them for the barges instead," Cleitus moaned, as a rock splashed near our ship. "Save us hauling them up."

"Why don't you suggest it to them?" I retorted when a boulder the size of a small horse smashed into the side of our ship, killing a man beside me and knocking me into the sea.

I'm a good swimmer, unlike Alexander, but my armour was weighing me down and the rock had hit my shoulder, dislocating it. I was sinking rapidly before I could start to push myself back up then I felt my hair being grabbed in a vice like grip, pulling me up until I broke the surface and gulped air into my raw lungs. An arm was wound about my waist tightly dragging me back to the ship where I was brought aboard and landed on the deck like a large fish. I fell on my back, hitting my shoulder but couldn't cry out as I had no breath. Cleitus was then beside me, as wet as myself, removing my armour, before he turned me over and pushed violently down on my back to pump the water out of my lungs until I was able to yell at the pain he was causing my shoulder. Not even bothering to sympathise, the man merely slammed the bone back into its natural orbit making me see bright white and very probably enjoying how it made me scream again. I have always been dubious of those men who pride themselves on their ability to stay 'heroically' quiet when wounded – the men I met had no qualms about howling and they were tough enough to conquer the world.

When the ship docked he helped me disembark to find a fearful Alexander bearing down on us; ignoring the fact that we were surrounded by the entire army and in full view of the enemy, he took me into a crushing hug my shoulder could have done without and kissed me soundly, to a chorus of wolf whistles and my growing embarrassment. He would never have done it before what happened to Solon.

"He's fine, Alexander." Cleitus drawled. "Just had a bath that's all – inside and out."

Shaking his head he began to walk off but I caught his arm.

"Cleitus – my thanks."

"You owe me, Athenian."

I did not deny it. What I couldn't understand was why he had done it and I had no chance to find out until much later.

Things were going to plan; the mole was extending relentlessly until it was close enough to join with my fleet in the beginning of a concerted barrage of catapult bolts, arrows and missiles. The towers were now replaced with siege towers and infantry started to move up; this was when the ever inventive Tyrians unleashed their most horrendous weapon yet – burning hot sand was poured down on the men, getting under their armour and cooking them as you would a crab; their screams haunted our dreams for weeks after as they tore at their clothing trying to find release or jumped into the water to drown, still screaming.

Meanwhile, Darius had sent another 'note' saying Alexander could have half the kingdom and a daughter as wife. My king replied he would have the whole kingdom and marry who he damn well pleased, with or without Darius' leave – and then went back to the siege.

It had been six months of blood, sweat and angry tears; of atrocities and barbarities that rivalled those seen at the Issus. Time to end it. With a pincher movement of men on the mole and my ships attacking the boom, we broke through and started bombarding the weaker seaward walls until they were breached. The Tyrians realised it was the end and left the walls to fight in the streets.

It was brutal, bloody, bruising, brain numbing and cathartic – all our pent up rage for the murder of the envoys and the burning of our men, forged the Macedonian army into a single sword arm cutting down the whole garrison with no mercy till over six thousand men lay dead. The rest, civilians, were sold into slavery. None of us shed a tear; we had already shed too many.

"Crucify at least a thousand of the bodies." Alexander ordered. "I want it clearly understood what I do to people who kill my men in cold blood!"

The Tyrians had abused the bodies of our dead – now over two thousand of their own would be refused their last rites.

We re-garrisoned the city with Cyprians and Sidonians as well as Macedonians and moved onto Gaza, the last major port the Persians could use before Egypt. Alexander put me in command of the fleet to search for supplies, support the land army and harass any Persian ships that might come to Gaza's assistance. It was a short siege compared to Tyre, only two months, but its governor, a eunuch called Betis, was a tough old bird and would not surrender.

The fleet had it the easiest in this campaign. I had Nearchus as my second; Cleitus was needed on dry land where his talents were of more use. We had been unusually, almost painfully, polite to each other since my dunking back at Tyre and it was confusing me like Hades. I understood a foul mouthed Black Cleitus, not this quiet, self-absorbed one.

"Nearchus, I'm going ashore to get our orders and some new supplies."

"Make sure we get enough bolts for the catapults this time."

Once in the camp I made my way to the King's tent where he was trying on a new helmet – it had a long red crest flanked by two white feathers. He would certainly be visible wearing that, which he would like.

"Why the new helmet?" I asked watching him preen before a mirror – I liked watching him do that. He nodded at his old one which I picked up and saw a huge dent in its top that had actually cracked the metal. "How did this happen?"

"Bird dropped a stone on me. Aristander said it means I will take the city but at some danger to myself for this day."

"Um. How do I protect you from bird droppings now, my king?"

He turned slowly and looked at me sitting nearby, then took off his helmet and set it aside carefully; I couldn't stop the laugh that was bubbling up inside me, which is why he caught me off guard by a flying tackle that had us both rolling on the floor.

"Ouch – watch my shoulder!"

"Fuck your shoulder."

"Well that could be interesting, is it possible?"

"Phai – shut up!"

Afterwards we talked sensibly about the omen and he assured me he intended to stay out of range in the siege for today. We went out to check on the progress of the assault and he was as good as his word – until he saw some men being driven back by a determined sorte from the city and dashed into help them, me right behind. A man he was fighting surrendered and, because he had shown much bravery, Alexander spared him, only to have the bastard whip out a dagger and try to stab him; Alexander had the reflexes of a cat, parried the blow with ease and struck home, killing his assailant instantly.

"There – that was the danger!" he yelled at me and stayed on to fight in the thick of it.

That was when one of the defenders with a crossbow got in a lucky shot, hitting him in the shoulder. The doctor pulled out the bolt and hastily bandaged the arm so that the King could return to the fight. Unfortunately the bandage wasn't tight enough and slipped under his armour so that he began to bleed heavily; seeing the paleness of his face I forced my way through to him as the loss of blood from his haemorrhage caused him to faint back into my arms.

He couldn't fight anymore so he had a stretcher made up that could be carried out each day to supervise the operations until Gaza fell. Betis committed suicide.

That night we had an intimate supper, just the two of us, both with aching shoulders.

"Do you think it will get any easier soon?" I asked tiredly.

"We head for Egypt next. I want you to take the fleet again and leave supplies as the army marches down."

We mused in silence for awhile; the last eight months had been exhausting, physically and emotionally. We all needed a rest, a long one.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

A/N – To Egypt, my first love, so you might learn more of that ancient land than you want! It also introduces two characters who are nothistorically real but belong to my novel and are my own creations – Ty and Maks.(Actually one is - Maks is based on a figure in the tomb of Maya, one of his brothers who was called Meryankh.)

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Chapter Twelve

I took the fleet to the port of Pelusium in the Egyptian delta, and then sailed down the tributary of the great Nile, keeping pace with the army marching beside us. We were heading for the Egyptian capital – Mennefer. It meant 'White Walls' and had been founded, so my guide assured me, back in the days when the land was first united under one king, almost three millennia ago. My mind couldn't process the idea of such antiquity but the young man, an Egyptian by birth from the capital called Ankhtefi, was more than willing to tell me all I wanted to know. He told me of their kings, called Pharaohs, and that they were believed to be gods, the sons of Amun, begot by the god on the Queen Mother. This all seemed so bizarre to me then but soon it would take on a very different meaning – to more than one of us.

We sailed past cities that had been old when Pella had never existed, until we hit the main Nile and sailed up to Mennefer. What greeted my eyes there was a bustling port like many I had seen, overshadowed by a massive temple of an architectural style I had never seen before – it was the great temple of Ptah, the god of this city and built by one of Egypt's greatest Pharaoh's, Rameses. The entrance was flanked by two huge pylons, higher than the walls of Tyre, painted white and decorated with colourful scenes of the gods and kings in battle and worship. Flag poles, four in all, stood in front of the pylons, two each, their ends tipped with gold catching the sun, the coloured flags whipping out in the breeze.

In the distance, through a soft haze, I saw a sight that left my jaw dropping like a stone – the Pyramids. All around me the crew had fallen into silence, staring open-mouthed at these legendary structures, shining brightly as the haze lifted, the gold pyramidions on their peaks flashing like fires. I was mesmerised, over awed by it all, far more than I had when I visited Athens with Alexander. It was as if giants had built them rather than men.

We reached the capital where the Persian governor, a man of common sense called Mazaces, decided to bow to the inevitable and welcomed my king in.

A few days later, riding in front of the army in full parade dress and order, rode my Alexander astride a very buffed up Buchephalus; the king was very 'buffed' up too, a golden diadem settling into his bronze mane and his dress armour complemented by a cloak of heavy Persian silk, that had once belonged to Darius.

On all sides the Egyptians were yelling themselves hoarse, crying his name and calling for the gods to bless him and his face shone with delight – I could almost feel him absorbing all that love and admiration being thrown at him. For indeed he was beautiful to look upon. As I watched from the palace steps beside Mazaces, my heart nearly burst looking at him and knowing he was mine, my Alexander – though I had to share him with others this day I could not begrudge him this time. He thrived on love as others did on food or wealth, and it had been so sparse these past eight months. Watching him come to me I smiled in the knowledge that soon the night would come and I would no longer be sharing him with anyone.

The palace was a huge complex set beside the temple. There were no windows, only ones high up to keep the heat at bay, but the rooms were nonetheless light and airy – white or decorated with brightly coloured friezes of animals and birds. Most rooms opened out onto a courtyard which had a huge pond in its centre that helped cool the rooms even more. Alexander's rooms were on the second storey looking out over a balcony to a spectacular view – the Pyramids at sunset.

We stood in silence as the white forms turned yellow through to blood red then black as if the sun was literally climbing the pyramids to their before, in one last blaze of glory when it hit the golden tips, it flew up to the heavens. I heard Alexander's intake of breath at the sight, matched by my own.

"Ankhtefi told me they were called the Gateways to the Stars – the dead king would use them to raise himself to the heavens and become one with the stars."

"They did not lie."

Stepping back into the room I went to pour us wine whilst he walked about looking at the various statuettes of gods placed in niches and on the tables. They were more than strange to me – I was used to the gods being portrayed as human not with animal heads on their shoulders.

"Do they truly believe their gods look like this?" he mused as I handed him a goblet. He was holding a small statue of a seated woman with a lion's head, Sekhmet, wife to Ptah and goddess of war and healing.

"Apparently not. The animal components are merely the Egyptians way of representing that their gods shared the qualities of these beasts – or at least I think that's what he meant! He seemed a little unsure himself. He actually told me their religion allowed them to believe in two diremetrically opposed ideas at the same time!"

"How is that?"

"Well, they argue that as no one can actually know the truth of the gods, then one theory has much chance of being right as another."

The smile that crept over his face brought a smile to my own and I know we both shared a sort of epiphany at that moment – here was a way to unite people if ever there was one!

"I must meet this young man." He said after awhile.

"I agree. I would also ask permission for me to spend time here studying their organisation – they've had a kingdom and bureaucracy for thousands of years and they could teach us so much to make the army, and your own empire, run more smoothly."

"You need not ask, Phaistion. I always trust your judgement, even if I don't always agree with it."

"Will you trust it now when I say – it's time for bed?"

"Oh, yes."

Our lovemaking was slow; we took time exploring each other's bodies as if it were the first time – we had started a new beginning here in Egypt and our joining in passion sealed our pact with each other and the strange gods of this land who had deemed us worthy to rule their ancient homeland.

I took Acte with me when I visited the scribes at the Residence, as the administration quarter of the city was called; ignoring the pointed looks of derision I received from Philotas and Craterus. They had caused enough rumours to fly about the camp and one time recently I actually punched Philotas – he had said, to my face, that I had taken advantage of her grief at Solon's death to make her my mistress and did I have no respect for the memory of a man, who 'after all, died in your place!' which was when I hit him. No one interfered and I think I saw Cleitus actually give a nod of approval to me, though I could have been mistaken – the man hadn't said more than a dozen words to me in a month.

She was not my mistress. In fact she treated me like a younger brother and was quite a bully, especially if she decided I wasn't eating enough or sleeping proper hours or, in general, not doing what she thought was the best for me. I found it quite comforting in the main if a little annoying at times – but what brother doesn't?

"Have you noticed the women here in Egypt, my lord?" she commented as we, and Ankhtefi, walked to the Residence through the broad streets of Mennefer – or Memphis as it was now called by us Greeks.

"I've been a little busy to watch women!"

"That's not what I meant. Look about you."

To shut her up I did so. The women were the usual mixture of young and old, fat and thin, ugly and beautiful. It suddenly dawned on me however the number of them there and none had a slave as an escort! They were shopping, visiting, talking to men who were evidently not their relations in familiar ways – some even called a greeting to Ankhtefi and asked him something, pointing a finger at me and then laughing. My friend blushed but said nothing merely smiled and walked us on.

"What were they saying, Ankhtefi?" I asked.

"Oh – nothing of consequence, my lord." He replied and Acte laughed out loud.

"You don't need a translator to know exactly what they were asking – 'who is the handsome foreigner?'"

As Ankhtefi blushed even more I surmised she had gotten it right. No Greek woman would have been so forward unless she was a prostitute and this was no such quarter.

"You seem shocked, General?" he asked.

"Of course he is, Ankhtefi. Greek women stay at home or only go out, wrapped to the gills, with a slave for protection. They do not accost beautiful young men in the street."

"Acte! For Zeus' sake, behave."

"That is what I was saying to you, my lord – the women here are free from any restraints. Is that not so Ankhtefi?"

"In most respects. Egyptian women have equal rights under the law." Here I choked. "Oh, yes, sir. If they divorce they retain any property they brought to the marriage and are entitled to one third of their husband's assets. They can instigate a divorce themselves; run a business, even have a career, though few do that. We have female doctors too."

"Oh – come now!"

"Truly, my lord. Only three to be sure, but their there nonetheless."

Olympias would love this place, I thought darkly – thank the gods she was in Macedon.

"I thought it to be the same in your land, my lord, as the lady here works for you as a secretary?"

"No. Acte's position is – unique."

The two chattered on together as we walked whilst I tried to get my mind to take in all the information I was hearing and seeing. Egypt truly was a different world.

The Royal Scribes at the Residence were more than eager to help and I spent an excellent day discussing systems of finance, tax collection, storing of supplies and transportation organisation. They promised to send translations of all the areas I had shown an interest in from their 'Books of Guidings' as they called them and I sat and waited for Acte to return; she had gone to see the secretarial department and Ankhtefi had gone with her. Leaning back in the shadows between a pillar and a life size statue of an old pharaoh they couldn't see me, but I could hear them and I was their topic of conversation.

"So you are not his mistress?"

"Absolutely not."

"Does he have one or a wife?"

"No."

"Strange. Such an important man and with such beauty – surely he cannot chose to be alone?"

"Oh, he's not alone, Ankhtefi – can I shorten that in any way without offence?"

"Of course – my family call me Tefi. Who then does he share his private time with? We have all seen how important he is to the king as a counsellor and friend…"

"Their relationship is, well – I can only say they are one."

"Ah – now I understand."

"Really? Few others seem to."

"We had a similar couple in our past history – the Pharaoh Neferkare Pepi and his best general were rumoured to be – close."

"It's not merely a physical thing Tefi; they are truly as one…"

I coughed at this point to let her know I was there and we returned to the palace so I could report to my king on my day. Who was Pepi?

We had been in Egypt two weeks or so when Alexander was crowned Pharaoh of the Two Lands, as the Egyptians called their land; it was in remembrance of a time when the country was divided so duality was the key to all things in Egypt: two crowns, the Red and the White, conjoined into one to represent the Two Lands; the fertile valley, home of the living, against the arid desert where the dead were laid to rest.

There was an ancient ceremony that had to be followed exactly and so we left all of it to the Egyptian priests to organise, including our own roles in the proceedings. It was funny to watch these physically slight men bossing around battered war veterans, most of whom towered over them, and ordering about Macedonian generals and officers as if they were raw recruits on a parade ground. Some did not find it at all amusing, Philotas especially, who nearly walked out altogether until Cleitus stopped him.

Tefi stood beside myself and Ptolemy explaining to us what was going on as Alexander, dressed in Egyptian attire, was led about from one side chapel to another throughout the huge temple to be shown to the gods; before seating himself on a large black marble throne, which had to be freezing cold, and having the crown of the Two Lands placed on his head. Then he was hailed as Pharaoh and god, son of Amun Ra.

"A god?" Philotas sneered loudly. "Next he'll be asking _us_ to worship him!"

Tefi was shocked at the outburst. "It is the custom here, Philotas," I whispered. "He is doing it to show the people he is no tyrant as Ochus was. We need their full support to continue our campaign against Darius."

"You believe that, loyal Hephaestion, but that's what you're here for, isn't it? To lick his arse."

If I could have at that moment, Parmenion's son would have died there and then but I was constrained by the place and the circumstance to do nothing.

"Philotas." A voice behind him said quietly. It was Cleitus. "Shut – the fuck – up."

The shock on my adversary's face was evident but he never uttered another word through out the ceremony.

At the banquet that followed, Alexander explained what had happened in the various chapels.

"I presented each god with a bowl of burning incense."

"You didn't sacrifice?"

"No – they don't do that as we do. When they kill cattle in the butchers yard to pay the wages of the temple staff, a portion is kept aside for the god – to kill in the actual sanctuary is forbidden."

"Cleaner at least."

"I also have five names now!"

"Wasn't one enough?"

"I am called Meryamun Setepenre Alexandros – Beloved of Amun, Chosen of Re, Alexander."

"But you'll still just be Xander to me! That's only three."

"Can't remember the other two…why were you arguing with Philotas?"

"When don't we argue?"

The next day ' Meryamun Setepenre Alexandros' visited the quasi-royal, quasi-divine Apis Bull – a huge creature with a very nasty way of eyeing you up and looking ridiculous in his garlands and gold painted horns. A predecessor had been speared and roasted by the Persian king Ochus, supposedly, much to the horror of all Egyptians. Alexander made sacrifice to it, giving it food and burning incense under its nose – with not a spear in sight. I'll be honest the whole thing seemed idiotic to me but the Egyptians were ecstatic! More and more he was entrenching himself fully into their hearts and on the throne of Egypt – she would become his most loyal province.

Alexander now put thought to the men who had battled and fought so tirelessly at Tyre and Gaza and announced Games and celebrations in their honour. Contestants from all over Greece – athletes, musicians and actors - poured into Egypt, including Thettalus.

It was a meeting of revelry and culture, marred only by the now constant bickering between Philotas and Craterus. Where this had all started I did not know. Usually the two were as thick as thieves and I was their mutual target of hatred. But something had occurred to set them against each other and their recriminations and counter accusations nearly spoilt this quiet interlude of rest and peace. I could have killed the pair of them for that alone.

After the Games had finished we moved back up to the Delta to a place near a huge lake. There was a natural harbour here and a blind man could see it was a perfect spot for a port city. For the next four days we tramped all over the low lying land, planning out the new Alexandria, the one that would be his greatest triumph. It was funny to see him sprinting about from place to place whilst his less athletic architects and engineers tried to keep up with him.

Temples, market places and homes were all marked out with the only thing available, grain. As he laid his markers down, flocks of sea birds would swoop down and eat it up. Fortunately the Egyptian scribes were fast enough to take it all down on papyrus before it was all eaten. The seers said it was a good omen that the city would prosper. I certainly hoped so.

It was on the night of his founding this city that he confided in me his next adventure. Whatever I had expected, it was not what he told me. I was seriously worried he had finally lost his mind.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

A/N The Egypt part is getting longer and longer so I've put it into two chapters

Chapter Thirteen

"Siwah?" I murmured sleepily, stroking his hair lazily.

We were in his room in a huge bed, lying on soft linen sheets perfumed with some exotic essence I couldn't recognise. They cooled the sweat of our entwined bodies, exhausted from vigorous lovemaking. I smiled to myself, thinking 'I've made love to a Pharaoh,' something no Macedonian had ever done before me. Then he started to tell me of his new plan.

"It's where the Oracle of Zeus Ammon is. I learned of it first at Dodona but the priests here told more me more about it on the day of my coronation. They say the god will answer any question put to him and I – have questions I need answers to, Phai."

"Well, we can visit tomorrow…" I yawned.

"It's in the Libyan desert, my love, about a ten day march from here." He chided me laughingly.

"Oh – well, we can come back and go there after we have defeated Darius. Parmenion sent word he's mobilising, hasn't he?"

"I mean to go now, Hephaestion."

I sat up, pushing him off me a little until I looked down into his eyes.

"You're not serious? You can't go on a trip into the desert for weeks in the middle of a campaign! The place is not going anywhere."

"As you say, Parmenion is watching the back door. We'll take only a few men with us; the bulk of the army will stay here under Philotas and Craterus – they need the rest."

"Alexander! You cannot do this. It is madness. What if you get lost or run out of water? There are many dangers out in the desert and we are not trained for it."

"We'll take guides and plenty of water. I'm not a fool!"

I took deep breaths to get my temper under control. This was no time to get into a shouting match as I recognised that tone in his voice that told me he was going to be obstinate in this.

"You are Pharaoh; King of Greece; you have responsibilities! This can wait…"

"No, it can't! You say I'm mad? Well, if I don't go to this oracle I will go mad. I have to know!"

"Know what?" but my heart was already sinking with dread.

"If Zeus is really my father." He whispered.

Oh, some sweet god, save him from this! I prayed. Olympias! All his life she had been telling him he was special, he was unique; that Philip was not his father, but she had never, or so I thought, gone this far and led him to believe he was, truly, a son of a god? Philotas' words came back in a blinding flash and I felt sick to my stomach. If he got the wrong answer, what would it do to my love's sanity? If he got the answer he wanted, to shed any part of him belonging to Philip, how would the army react? Either way he needed me to protect him once more.

"Phai? Please don't turn away from me."

I shook myself back into the present and gazed at those lovely grey eyes, liquid in their intensity and so filled with pain and confusion I could refuse him nothing. Who knew, he might very well be the son of Zeus – as was Herakles, his ancestor.

"I will never turn away from you, my love. If you need this then I will go with you."

The others were less easy to convince. That was one of the worst Council meetings I had ever sat through as general after general derided him, or tried to cajole him into changing his mind, or simply laughed. In the end he lost his temper and ordered them to do as he said.

"This is not Plato's debating society, gentlemen – I am your king and you will do as you are told!"

Philotas was so angry I swear I saw smoke coming from his ears. Which is why, a few days later, I was so surprised when he announced to Alexander that he had found two guides who knew the route to the oasis. Why would he take the time to find such men when he disagreed with the whole idea? Then again, he was being left in command so perhaps his ego got the better of his temper. Still, it didn't sit right with me. I had no time to look into it as something stranger still occurred to drive it from my mind.

That evening Alexander was staying with the old Persian governor, Mazaces, for the night after attending a banquet with the local nobles. I begged off wanting to complete the final preparations for our 'little trip'. Having arranged for water, food and proper clothing, I supervised its packing and transport onto the port from where we were departing, Paraetonium. I went back to my room and soaked in a warm bath until all the tension seeped away into the lotus perfumed water; I felt rested and calm, as well as drowsy. Hero assisted me from the bath, dried me off and helped me into one of the Persian robes Alexander had given me; placing a small table with food and wine beside me, he took his leave for the night.

I was thinking of getting into bed when I heard a soft scraping at the door. Dragging myself to my feet I went to open it and found Cleitus standing there. I was so astonished to see him, as we had not spoken a word to each other since the coronation, that I stepped back automatically to let him in. For what seemed ages we merely stood and looked at each other.

"Cleitus?" I cleared a throat suddenly gone dry. "How can I help you?"

He said nothing but walked closer till there was barely space between us, his eyes holding mine in a grip that was almost physical in its intensity.

"Cleitus? What – do – you – want?"

"You know what I want."

And I did, gods help me. I tried ordering my legs to move but they betrayed me. The general casually pushed off the robe from my shoulders till I stood naked before him and then he slowly examined every part and feature of my body, almost hungrily, or as a dying man gasps for his last breathe.

"Beautiful." He murmured and I found to my utter shock and surprise I wanted him to touch me – what he was doing to me with only his eyes was enough to make me want to know how it would feel to have his hands all over me…what was I thinking? I love Alexander, I cried in my skull as he pulled me, at last, into a light embrace, and kissed me, surprisingly gently, until I responded and kissed him back.

Cleitus was a big man and had no trouble lifting me off my feet into his arms to walk to the bed and lay me down. Undressing himself he was soon beside me, his hands caressing, exploring, probing every part of me until I was putty in his hands and he knew it. He took me as slowly as he had first kissed me, drawing out the pleasure until my body sang to his experienced playing. He stopped my scream when I came with his mouth on mine as I shuddered, clamping hard about him within me until he filled me to bursting. I had never been brought to such a lack of control when making love before – not even with Alexander. But I did not love Cleitus, of this I am certain. As certain as I was then that he loved me. I dare not.

It all made sense now, or did it? He slipped out of me and lay beside me on his back, staring at the ceiling, not taking me in his arms – we both knew that would lead somewhere neither of us was prepared to go.

"I hate you for making me love you, Athenian. I hate your Alexander too."

"I know. Philip wanted you to be his _erastes_ and I got in the way."

He laughed aloud at that, turning on his side, propped on his elbow so he could look down at me. "Where did you get that idea from? Philip never wanted any man as his son's _erastes_. Too much power and influence. Besides I had already chosen another boy I wanted – but the Prince got there before me. Oh, yes, my lovely Hephaestion, I had offered myself as a suitor for you to your father and he had given his blessing, too."

What could I say – sorry? I wasn't. I loved Alexander but I felt regret of what I had lost in Cleitus as a lover and mentor. We both knew this would never happen again; no words needed to be spoken. As he dressed and started to leave I took his hand.

"Be careful about Alexander. If he ever found out about this he would kill you."

"I'm a hard man to kill."

"Please. His jealousy is like that of his mother."

His head came up and he looked at me through narrowed eyes, and then nodded. He understood. "Watch yourself, Athenian – I won't be there in the desert to take care of you."

I bridled momentarily then realised he was a joking. Reaching the door he took the handle in his hand but turned to me one last time.

"I will remember this night to the end of my life. Thank you, Hephaestion Amyntoros." Then he left.

"Alexander – we're lost. Admit it." Ptolemy croaked through the cloth over his mouth, throat parched for he hadn't had above a mouthful of water in the past two days. None of us had.

Everything had gone well enough for the first few days until we hit a sandstorm, or it hit us to be more exact, and the track we were following disappeared. The guides told us they could find it again and we were going in the right direction but we never found it and slowly the water began to run out.

We were in desperate straights and even Alexander finally agreed with Ptolemy that we were lost. Making camp early we settled in for a dismal few hours rest. The guides kept apart as some of the others had been heard muttering they were to blame. Nearchus was all for killing them and boiling down their fat for fluids. Thankfully the gods showed mercy that night and it rained hard enough for us to collect enough water to quench our thirst a little and give us life for another day. None of us felt too happy about trusting the guides but there was no alternative.

Apparently the gods had other ideas for the next evening our encampment was approached by two strangers on camels who came out of the darkness like apparitions. Perdiccas, Ptolemy and myself stood in front of the King, alert and ready to draw our swords if these 'ghosts' proved hostile. They were two of the biggest men I had ever seen, wrapped up in long robes to keep the sun from scorching the skin off their backs. The taller of the two approached, his hands wide showing he held no weapon.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"A traveller to the oracle at Siwah. I am known as Ty of Iunu and my companion here is Meryankh, son of Iuwy. I am surprised to find anyone here."

"If you're going to the oracle too we must be on the right track after all." Answered Nearchus.

"Depends where you left from?"

"Paraetonium." He replied.

"Then you're not on the right track."

"Our guides assure us it is in that direction." I pointed south.

Ty turned to his companion and started to speak in a form of Egyptian I could not make out at all, then the big man turned back to us.

"Maks says you're heading straight out into the Libyan desert and not Siwah – its west from here."

We looked at each other and then the king who nodded, stepped forward inviting the two men to share our meal. The declined but offered to share their supplies with us instead and we accepted gratefully. The one called Maks evidently spoke no Greek so Ty did all the talking. It seemed Maks was unimpressed with a general who left in the middle of a campaign to go wandering about the desert. Few of us would have disagreed with him. How did he know that anyway? We wore no armour, only swords.

"I needed to secure the borders with Libya anyway." Alexander explained, not questioning who these men were he was trusting so blithely. "And the men need the rest. We didn't plan on getting lost!"

"My friend here doesn't understand your need to visit this oracle. As Greeks what can it mean to you?"

"We equate your Amun to be the same as our Zeus, king of the gods. I will need all the help I can get on the next part of the campaign for the League against Darius."

Maks merely shrugged then grunted something to Ty.

"He'll lead you back to the right path tomorrow. Maks is the best tracker you'll ever come across."

I certainly hoped he was.

The next day we packed up our camp feeling far better than we had for days – water in a desert is life and death and these strangers had given us life. In the daylight we got our first good look at them and they were a shock.

Ty was dark haired, blue eyed, with massive shoulders and a physique to match. He had a permanent grin on his face, lightly covered with a beard, and the lines about his eyes showed he was a man who loved to laugh.

Maks, on the other hand, made our collective jaws drop. He had to be the most beautiful man any of us had ever laid eyes on, even in comparison with my Alexander. Very tall, well built, his perfect features held no femininity in them; the copper mane that fell to his shoulders when not wrapped in a scarf to keep the sand out of it, complemented eyes the colour of the sea in all its moods – a deep green when he was amused, jade when concentrating and grey as a storm when angry. You read his emotions, not in his face which seemed carved from living marble, but in those eyes. This was a man, clearly, who never allowed himself to be ruled by his emotions.

It was another two days before we reached the outer oasis. We had travelled through a stone-strewn ravine for miles until I believed we were lost again. But then we saw two crows wheeling overhead and Maks pointed in their direction. To us it was a sign from the gods showing us the way but he snorted something at Ty and walked off.

"Birds rarely stray too far from water, certainly not that type." Ty explained, glaring at his friend's back.

Two days later we reached Siwah.

What a sight we must have made to the brightly clad, chattering inhabitants of the small town around the temple; twenty odd bedraggled men, covered in sand encrusted robes, so much so it would be difficult to differentiate between hair, skin and clothing! I was desperate for a bath and to get the sand out of every nook and cranny it had found its way into. However that had to wait.

From the temple a procession was approaching; the head priest walked straight to Alexander, as indistinguishable as the rest of us, with no hesitation and bowed.

"Welcome, Son of Amun."

I couldn't help it – I gasped along with the rest. There was no way he could have known who or what we were, let alone that one of our number was his new Pharaoh! It is doubtful the man had even heard he had one.

He invited Alexander to accompany him alone; as I watched in something akin to awe, my lover followed the priest in retracing their steps to the temple and disappeared inside.

All we could do now was wait. I sat apart from the others, my mind in turmoil. I had been dismissive of Olympias' claims but now this priest had hailed him, so clearly, as the son of a god.

"Excuse me." A deep, rich voice spoke in my ear making me jump. It was Maks. "Please explain why you are all so – upset?"

So he _could_ speak Greek. I gave him a wry smile, which he answered in kind.

"The priest called him the 'son of Amun'. He couldn't have known who Alexander was to say that."

"I see."

"What happens in there?"

"The god is placed on a bark, sort of boat, and carried on the shoulders of the priests. A suppliant asks his question and the bark presses down on the shoulders of the carriers in answer: 'yes' they move forward, 'no' they go backwards. If they move from side to side it is either very bad news or the carriers are drunk."

I laughed out loud at that. He was evidently not a religious man or too pragmatic to be influenced by all the ceremony. I went back to watching the temple door. We sat in silence for awhile until he asked me why this visit had really been so important to the king – he had not believed Alexander had given him the whole truth back in the desert, obviously – astute. How could I explain it to this man, far more than the 'guide' he appeared to be – I didn't know who he really was but I felt instinctively I could trust him as Alexander had before. Keeping a wary eye on my brother officers I answered him as best I could; it helped answer some of my own queries at the same time.

"To understand Alexander, you have to understand Macedonia. His mother assassinated his father, in all likelihood. No king has died in his bed in living memory and the Army Council elects most successors. It doesn't allow for a secure lifestyle, especially when your parents are at each other's throats day and night. Alexander was the only viable heir, but Olympias was constantly sowing seeds of doubt about Philip's intentions. It didn't help that the old king couldn't keep his hands off any woman who came into his orbit – the young men were no threat obviously. The king also married a lot."

"Our kings also had many wives and children. They always cause power struggles."

"True. Then she kept telling him Philip was not his father, hinting at a greater siring for him than a mere mortal. And why not? Herakles was the son of Zeus; Achilles the son of Thetis – the gods do interfere in Greece a lot. If you believe in them, and Alexander does."

"You don't believe in your gods?"

"I believe in Alexander."

As I said those words the object of our conversation came down the temple steps towards us. All of his officers crowded around him so I could not see him at all; but I heard his light voice answering their questions of what happened.

"I am satisfied with the answer I received, my friends, and that is all I will say."

He finally pushed through them to find me and told me to follow him with an almost imperceptible motion of his head. We walked away from the others and I saw Maks head straight to the temple.

"I will write to my mother that I have been here and spoken to the god."

"She will, no doubt, be interested to know what he said." I didn't add that if what she said was true he had no need to write and tell her. He must have read my mind because he smiled and took my arm.

"I intend to discuss it with her when I return to Macedon." My shock must have been clear on my face – we both knew he never had any intention of going back. "But you will hear it now."

And so he did.

He asked me never to reveal what we talked of on that walk and I never shall; I may not believe unquestioningly as some, but I do listen to the gods when they speak to me.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

A/N There is no historical evidence that Hephaestion met Mazaeus at the Tigris but I read it somewhere and it sounded logical, so I've used it.

  


Chapter Fourteen

"I'm telling you Alexander, he is disloyal. Speak to his whore and she'll tell you." Craterus' huge voice boomed through the small room making a carved alabaster vase shake on its table.

Since our return to Memphis, under the expert guidance of Ty and Maks, Craterus had been taking every opportunity he could to denounce Philotas. Deep within me I sensed he spoke truth; the guides had returned with us but mysteriously disappeared soon after until, two days after our return, their bodies had been discovered near the city's wharves. It could have been robbery but the coincidence was too much for me to accept that. The only person who would want them dead would be the man who had employed them – to do what? Get us lost so we would die quietly in the desert on Alexander's 'crazy' trip? Perfect cover for a man wanting to seize power. Now I would never get any proof as I had aimed to one way or another.

However I was not prepared to condemn the man on the word of a prostitute and two dead men. Maks had found the bodies and reported the fact to me. All he said to me was "Watch the man Philotas. I hear things."

"What? If there is a threat to the king…"

"Nothing conclusive – he will not move against him openly but he won't be slow to take advantage of any opening offered by others to do harm."

I heeded his words from then on but I knew Alexander – he would not act against an old friend unless he was forced to.

"Very well, Craterus, bring her to me then."

Antigone was beautiful in an over-ripe way to my thinking but she was as sharp as a knife and her report was pithy and exact. I admired her for it but it told us nothing we did not know of the man already.

Philotas had always hated that Alexander was Prince, then King; often when drunk he would cry out that without his father, Parmenion, 'The Boy' would still be in Greece, which was patently absurd.

Whilst Alexander was beating the Thracians at sixteen Parmenion was stuck at Byzantium with Philip. When Alexander stormed down like a whirlwind to Thebes in the first year of his reign, Parmenion was being pushed back to the Hellespont. To say, as his son did, that the old man had won all Alexander's victories was delusional at best, treason at the worst.

Alexander heard her out and thanked her, using all his charm to ensure she reported anything else her lover might say or do. But I knew he would do nothing; keep a close eye on him to be sure but not arrest him. Craterus was livid and asked why he was to go unpunished?

"Because it is my wish, Craterus. I need his father's loyalty right now and I'll not risk it – yet."

There was also the matter of Parmenion's younger son, Hector, who had died here in Egypt when a boat he was in sank whilst trying to catch up the royal barge. Alexander had been grief stricken for the boy and had given him as elaborate a funeral as he could. I did not question his actions; perhaps on a lonely night he and the boy had taken comfort with each other. I didn't know, didn't want to know. Besides that the boy was from the most powerful family in Macedon and Alexander probably did not want to add to the man's grief at this time. As Parmenion also controlled half the army I could see the reasoning behind it.

We left Egypt to my deep regret. I doubt I will ever see it again. Many of us had enjoyed it there and I know Ptolemy has his eye on the province for any post Alexander may award him in the future. Nothing like planning ahead.

So many things had occurred there – the journey to Siwah, Alexander being hailed a god, and Cleitus. One thing I did take with me was Ankhtefi: he was a brilliant administrator and devoted to me for some reason. Well, I know the reason – Acte. I wasn't blind to their mutual attraction and would happily give her to him in marriage when they asked after the year of mourning for Solon was over. It would be one less responsibility for me to worry over.

As for Cleitus, we kept up a civil banter between us in public; I was wary of Alexander and waking any suspicions in him, though it happened nonetheless from a perfectly innocent encounter. I had met Cleitus in a corridor of the palace at Memphis soon after our return and he, quite naturally, asked about the journey and what had happened, which I told him.

"I've learnt to hate deserts, Cleitus. The sand gets everywhere and I mean everywhere! I think I'm still shitting part of the Libyan Desert even now."

He roared with laughter at that.

"Perhaps a friend should dunk you in the river again to wash it all out of those cracks you can't reach – or perhaps a swift probe with a sponge?"

"So long as it isn't a snake…"

Laughing together we rounded the corner and walked straight into Alexander. His eyes dilated at once and as soon as Cleitus had saluted and taken his leave, he turned to me, his lips a thin line of anger.

"You seem very friendly all of a sudden – quite close in fact."

"I was telling him of the desert and how it gets everywhere, which he found amusing. You're always telling me to stop arguing with my fellow officers. Are you now telling me not to speak with them at all?"

I could feel a cold sweat beginning to form on my skin and I knew the best way of dealing with it was to play the injured party. He smiled then, apologised and all was right again. Though I did not love Cleitus I realised then he was 'dear' to me in a peculiar, private way. Strange.

We took something else from Egypt: a regiment of Egyptian soldiers who had been in the service, albeit forcibly, of the Persian governor. It came as little surprise to me to find that their commanding officer was none other than Ty, with Maks being his second in command. Alexander left orders for the recruitment of young boys to be trained in the Greek way of fighting – after all, he would need replacements and what better than enthusiastic recruits, trained to his own specifications. This did not sit well with some of the Generals – they were beginning to realise that defeating Darius may not be the end of their Asian adventure after all.

It was now time to turn our attention to the Persian King who was building a massive army according to Paremenion's reports. But as we rode to meet him the normal routine of the day carried on; prays in the morning, administrative reports to go over; justice to be administered; a hunting expedition in the afternoon and then a banquet. We were travelling in a mobile court and he had the additional concerns of reconnaissance and supplies for the upcoming campaign to worry about – the latter he gave to me and over the next weeks I spent more time away from him than with him. To say I enjoyed my small taste of freedom would perhaps lead one to believe I found our relationship – tiring. Not so. We both needed a break occasionally and in our hearts we were never apart.

As soon as I would return from one of my trips he would read me any letters he thought I needed to know about, as well as a few I could have done without knowing about – those came mainly from his mother; she was not their in body but she certainly was in spirit – as well as copious amounts of ink. Alexander was constantly sending her gifts and wrote to her regularly but it was not enough, especially when he never did as she asked.

She wanted Antipater replaced as he was her enemy – he stayed put; she couldn't understand how he had re-assigned Harpolas to a financial post after he had absconded with part of the treasury after the Battle of the Issus and fled to Athens – neither could I if it comes to that: he replied Harpolas was an old friend who had learnt from his error and was truly repentant. Ha! We discovered how wrong his judgement had been there many years later.

And of course she railed against his friends, me in particular: 'I couldn't be trusted', I was 'causing discord with his other generals' and, the best for last, I was 'stopping him from begetting an heir'.

"Put him aside, Alexander, in some minor administrative post, somewhere in your empire where he can do no more harm…"

I read this leaning over his shoulder one afternoon, much to the vocal disgust of the assembled Staff. Hearing this Alexander looked around at them, kissed his signet ring and then offered it to me to kiss too, then went back to reading his letter. There was absolute silence in the room – by that small action he had re-iterated what he had said at the Issus 'I, too, was Alexander.' No one mentioned it again.

The news from Greece was not all good. Antipater was fighting a revolt by the King of Sparta, Agis, backed by Athens and yes, you've guessed, Demosthenes. Macedon had to have its own standing army and garrisons for the strategic points along the border so we needed to attract foreign troops to keep up our fighting strength. Nor was it all bad: a letter soon reached us that Agis had been soundly defeated at Megalopolis by Antipater. Alexander on hearing this denigrated it in public as a 'battle of mice' which I felt was totally inappropriate and told him so – in private. It led to one of our rare physical fights, causing the guards to come rushing in at all the noise.

"Get out!" Alexander yelled at them, which was quite good as I had my arm round his throat in an arm lock, mainly to stop him biting me. The man has very sharp teeth.

Afterwards he threw a nice feast to honour Antipater's success and sent him a lavish gift as well as a letter gushing with praise – which was overdoing it somewhat.

We were coming up towards the Euphrates River, the first major geographical obstacle between Darius' forces and ourselves. I was sent on to bridge the river, watched from a distance by enemy forces – they made no move against me and as soon as Alexander came up with the army they retreated. I was then sent to follow them with a small scouting party. We needed to know the lye of the land and the exact strength of any opposition as we came up to the Tigris.

This river was swift flowing and deep and I could not see anyway of bridging it in time for the army to cross. The idea of doing so fired my imagination and if I had had the time I would have attempted something of a more permanent nature than my usual pontoon-bridge – but they have a great advantage on campaign: you can pack them up and take them with you.

What I was not expecting to meet there was a small delegation from the satrap of Babylon, a man called Mazaeus. I was even more surprised when Damon entered my tent and announced the man himself. He was as tall as myself, slim, bearded and heavily perfumed which in a confined space such as my tent dried my throat out so I offered wine, as a courtesy of course, but also to wet my gullet so I wouldn't sound like a frog. First impressions in a diplomatic situation are very important. Take a dislike to how a man looks at you or the tone of his voice and it won't matter what he's actually saying. After we had sized each other up enough to get an idea of the other man we began to talk, Tefi acting as interpreter.

"I assume Alexander is on his way."

"Assumptions are a very personal thing but he's not too far away."

"I understand you are his adviser?"

"Perhaps."

"Let me be plain. I am Babylonian not Persian. They conquered my people barely a century ago and it sits ill with us. We are an ancient race and to bow the knee to such – horse breeders – is an insult."

I did not mention that the Macedonians were only herding sheep themselves when Cyrus conquered them; that was not of consequence now.

"Alexander's mandate here in Asia is to free the oppressed (I ignored the bit about it only being Greek cities) and if you ask for our help then I am sure an arrangement can be made similar to that agreed with the Egyptians who came to us."

He looked at me warily, then at Tefi and they talked awhile without relaying the conversation to me – but I understood it without a translation; he wanted to know how Alexander had acted in Egypt and whether what I said was truth. Evidently the reply was to his satisfaction and we then got down to the real business of the meeting – treason.

Three days later and Alexander arrived with the army. That night a strange event occurred, an eclipse of the moon. Many of the troops said it was a bad omen and Alexander agreed it was – for Darius. We crossed the Tigris, the infantry wading across between two columns of cavalry to stop them from being washed away. My scouts returned with two Persian spies in hand and they 'volunteered' the information that Darius was at a place near the River Arbela and was busily smoothing the ground there – he had chosen his battleground and, obviously, had no intention of moving.

With this news Alexander decided he could afford to give the troops a rest. He knew the battle coming would be the most important one of the whole campaign so far. The scouts and the spies had told of an opposing army of hundreds of thousands; perhaps exaggeration but against our barely fifty thousand it would still leave us outnumbered at least two to one if not more. Alexander also needed the time for Maks and Ty to get back as they had volunteered to get as close to Darius' army as they could and report back how his forces were deployed. In the meanwhile I explained my meeting with Mazaeus and the smile on his face was more than enough to make me optimistic of our chances.

"Phai – you've just given me the battle."

I surely hoped so.

When Ty and Maks returned they told us the spies had not exaggerated the numbers – some two hundred thousand troops, forty thousand of which were cavalry. Their deployment put our left wing against their heavy cavalry, the Cappodocians whose horses even wore armour, as well as scythed chariots. The rest were all massed behind them, chariots in front – hence all the time he had spent smoothing the battlefield.

Some of the officers were ready to attack without hesitation, their belief in Alexander's ability to win over whelming. Older heads were not so enthusiastic. Parmenion pointed out, quite rightly in my view, that as Darius had prepared the ground it could hold traps for us – pits for the infantry, caltrops for the horses. Maks said he saw no evidence of this but Alexander decided to ride out and take a look himself.

He rode up and down at a leisurely pace in full sight of the enemy giving them a beautiful performance of ' I couldn't care less what you have – you don't frighten me' message. They frightened the rest of us though. I'd never seen so many cavalry in one place before and they would be a problem. We only had barely seven thousand and they outnumbered us three to one. But Maks was right too – there were no traps laid.

Alexander dismissed us all to get a good night's rest and he spent the night thinking how to combat Nabarzanes advantage in numbers. I know this because I couldn't sleep and sat in the opening of my tent watching the shadow of his pacing figure until the dawn came and I moved inside to arm.

That morning Alexander sacrificed to Phobos – something he had never done before. Fear is an integral part of a soldier's life but though it can encourage you to great feats of courage it can also creep up on you like a wall of dread and engulf you – then you die or run and be dishonoured. Alexander recognised this and the fact that in this battle we faced such overwhelming odds it was common sense to placate this god.

Our last meeting was short but his words have stayed with me all these years:

"Gentlemen, you have no need for speeches to inspire you. Your courage, and your pride in it, will be enough. Encourage the men under your command is all I ask, so they can see their own courage as reflected in you."

He then reiterated the standing orders and the need to follow them exactly: silence as we move up and then raising the battle cry to the heavens when the time was right. The men were well rested unlike those of Darius who, expecting a night attack because of our smaller numbers, had kept all his army in battle order all through the night. Hopefully they would be exhausted enough to give us an advantage.

"Seleucus I want you to join Nicanor with the Hypaspists; Hephaestion, you will command the agema. What _is_ it Philotas?" he asked on hearing the choked gasp.

"You're putting _him_ in command of the Royal Hypaspists? Alexander he has never commanded in battle before. Surely Craterus…"

"I need him with the infantry in the centre. He is my rock there as your father is to my left."

"Alexander!"

"Philotas – hold your tongue, boy!" Parmenion roared at him.

He glared at his son with as much fury as I was doing. How dare he question his king! How dare he cast doubts on my ability in public! Cleitus caught my eye then and almost imperceptively shook his head – 'don't lose it.' Alexander pressed my arm reassuringly to tell me the same thing and that he had every confidence in me.

Philotas apologised to his king for his temerity in questioning his assignments and then added: "And he'll actually be under your command so he won't really be commanding anyone…"

That was the last straw and I moved so fast that Alexander hadn't time to stop me before I reached him and could start choking the life out of him – but Cleitus did; holding me firmly from behind, pinning my arms to my side, he whispered viciously:

"Don't be a bloody fool, Hephaestion. Think of where you are and of your King."

The silent messages that were passing between Philotas and me were the promise of hatred to the death – for both of us. He would pay for this days work, I swore. As I shrugged Cleitus off and turned away I saw Craterus watching the whole incident, eyes glittering – with pleasure.

We waited, the Companions and the Agema, Alexander at our head, ordering the army to move to the right relentlessly. We waited as the Persians struck the left flank and Parmenion pushed back. We waited as the centre was engaged, the right battle still moving inexorably to its own right. We waited.

And then Darius, concerned with this move to our right and that we would try to outflank him, ordered exactly what Alexander had been waiting for – he commanded the Bactrians under Bessus to oppose our 'flanking' movement and opened up a gap.

Then Alexander changed horses and mounted Bucephalus for what would be the old horse's last battle. We lined up in wedge formation behind him, I directly to his left to watch his back. He raised the_ paean_ and the cry was answered by thousands of voices rejecting Phobos and crying their belief in their own son of god who lead them that day. We charged out at a thunderous pace right for that gap he had so assiduously worked to open and the Persians crumbled – Mazaeus, away on the left, put up a cursory attack but never pushed his advantage.

Once again the King of Kings saw the shining figure, sun blazing from his helmet and raised sword, astride the small black devil horse and he panicked – again, running from the field. At this Mazaeus, as agreed, led his men from the field and retreated back to Babylon. Nabarzanes and the bulk of the Persian cavalry soon followed their hastily disappearing king.

Alexander was determined to capture Darius this time and called for fresh mounts to start the pursuit when a messenger came breasting through dust and struggling bodies to find his king and report that Parmenion needed help. Screaming his frustration to the heavens, the king turned us back to help his beleaguered left wing. If that crumbled we could still have lost the battle.

We had to fight our way through the remaining Persians, some of whom were the legendary Immortals who had become separated from their king and were fighting to cover their shame and humiliation at their king's flight. It was hard and bitter and they fought with such determination and courage I could do nothing but admire them. Staying as close to my king as I could my arm was aching as I brought my sword down time after time after time on heads, arms and legs. I smashed skulls, lopped off arms and slashed into unprotected thighs. My ears were deaf to the screaming as I saw a man aim a spear at Alexander's back. Booting my horse viciously I cut through the arm holding the spear, then took off his head as another man speared me in my left arm. Cutting through the wooden haft I saw the man go down under Alexander's sword. I nodded to him as we then turned together and finally broke through to Parmenion's men – who had now got the enemy on the run, thanks in part to the Thessalian cavalry, and didn't need our help at all; we had left sixty Companions dead and as many wounded behind us and for what? I couldn't stop the surge of fury at the idea their deaths had been for nothing. I wanted to know who sent the recall message and why so many had to die for it.

I led my men after Alexander who now made for the camp to see to the wounded and orderly withdrawal of the army from the field. There we found a group of Persians who had been captured whilst trying to rescue the Royal Family, but Sisygambis had refused point blank to leave: why would she choose to leave her 'son' who had just won the battle for a man who was nothing to her now?

I saw to the comfort of my men, getting the wounded to the hospital tents, ensuring the grooms took care of their mounts and looking to the cooks to get them fed. When all was done I headed to Alexander's tent – I wanted to talk to Parmenion. He wasn't there, having been wounded and neither was Philotas. Craterus was and he confirmed my suspicions: Parmenion had been wounded and had withdrawn to have emergency treatment; Philotas had sent the message but his father, on returning to the battle, had turned the tide in his usual sure way. He had gone now to have his wound properly treated.

"Alexander." I growled low. "He cost the lives of over sixty men because he panicked. Surely this has to be – dealt – with – this…"

"Phai?"

There was something wrong with his voice; it was so quiet as if coming from far away – gods, he was falling!

But it wasn't him falling, it was me. I'd forgotten my own wound. It had been bleeding profusely, despite the piece of torn cloth I had quickly wrapped about it and now I hit the floor as everything about me went black.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

A/N Babylon – I've used some ideas from the film but not as portrayed there. This is a short chapter. Circe is not an historical character; I made her us but she's needed.

Chapter Fifteen

The wound had become infected and I was ill for weeks, close to death at one point. Alexander was always there when I woke and I doubt he had any sleep until I passed the nadir of the illness; he brought his work with him and I often lay there watching him reading reports and making notes. As I began my recuperation he still sat with me only now he discussed the things he was reading with me. Many were reports on Darius' whereabouts – he had headed for Ecbatana, the Persian kings summer palace and it looked as if he was abandoning all the major royal cities to my king. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he took them one by one.

The first, of course, was Babylon. Mazaeus came out to meet us on the road and offered Alexander the city as well as his children as hostages. Still unsure we approached in full battle order but the gates were open and my spies told us the people were ready to greet their new king with all pomp and ceremony.

Hastily ordering the troops into dress armour, we all lined up in procession and marched in to the welcome embrace of the Babylonians – the street we passed down had been strewn with flowers and perfume; there were caged lions and leopards in the procession as well as acrobats and dancers; it was a heady mixture and most of us were gawping about as we had in Egypt at the amazing buildings covered in glazed tiles; the ziggurat's in the distance pulled your eye to them but not in as sweet a way as the pyramids had done – instinctively I knew these homes of the gods were somehow darker and less humane than those in the land of the Nile. Bal was a vengeful god and his temple had been destroyed by Xerxes over a hundred years before when the Babylonians had revolted.

When we entered the palace, a massive complex of dark corridors, gaudily decorated in tiles of all colours depicting strange men in procession along the walls, huge columns holding up cedar wood ceilings that we couldn't even see in the gloom. One thing we could see was the gold in the treasury – it was full, literally, to bursting, and Alexander gleefully used some of it to pay the men lavish bounties and the mercenaries two months extra pay; now they could buy what was on offer in the city they were not allowed to take in pillage.

Babylon was granted the status it had before Xerxes – he gave money to the priests of Bal to rebuild their burnt Temple and Mazaeus was confirmed as its satrap. The Babylonians were ecstatic, the Macedonians were not – it looked as if he was rewarding the very man who had been up against Parmenion at Gaugamela – he wasn't of course it was part of the agreement I had made with the man. It was a sign of things to come as he would prefer to replace a local man as satrap or governor rather than a Macedonian – however, the garrison was always Greek.

The first day in the palace we wandered about until we came to a section apart from the rest: there were about seven of us beside the king, including Philotas, Cleitus and Nearchus, looking into this room and that one until we found doors guarded by two huge Nubians, who towered over us, especially Alexander. Tefi asked the men what was behind the doors.

"It is the harem, my king." He answered.

The officers about me immediately whistled and as a man lunged towards the doors until Alexander shouted at them in his battle voice and they came to a stop in a messy heap gazing up at the still impassive black men.

"Gentlemen! Remember they are my property now. If I decide to share I'll let you know."

"But Alexander!" cried Nearchus. "There's rumoured to be one for every day of the year in there! Be kind!"

"Aren't you even going to take a peek?" Cleitus asked laughing.

"No – I've a days work to get through yet. Move gentlemen!"

As we followed the grumbling crew I leaned towards him and whispered "I get one this time, right?"

He never answered but gave me a breathtaking smile that made my stomach lurch – who needed women!

That night we stood on his balcony looking over the city that never seemed to sleep and talked of how we had gotten there from our days at Meiza. He was so full of wonder at all the new things he had seen and what else could be before us that I was carried along with the same urge to see them as he was. I had already amassed a number of the dried flowers from the procession that morning to send onto Aristotle in my monthly letter. We returned to the bedroom and made love to the sounds of the city and in a haze of exotic scents that wafted in through the open windows.

"What are you going to do with the harem?" I asked after in a sleep filled voice.

"Leave it where it is." He looked down at me, a grin forming on his face. "I could send for a couple now if you'd like?"

"What? Ah – no – I'm fine."

That made him throw back his head and howl.

"That's very – funny – my king."

"When we come back here, Phai…"

"Can't wait."

We spent a long month in Babylon but then we had to move on. I doubt now I will ever see it again. The treasure train was put under guard and the command of Harpolas. To say the march to Susa was easy would be an understatement; we were met everywhere by envoys submitting to his rule, the news of Darius' flight winging its way down the Royal Road swifter than a hawk. So Alexander gave the men games and started to award men for valour shown in combat. The men grew to love him even more if that were possible. He was their young king, their god who never led them to defeat – their pride in him could be ameliorated into pride for their own actions.

Susa was the administrative capital of the empire and if I thought the treasury at Babylon was full, this one bulged out the sides of the building; we were rich beyond our wildest dreams. And he kept giving it away; Parmenion received the mansion that had once belonged to the eunuch, Bagoas, who had placed Darius on the throne after killing the previous two kings. He said it was ours to ask and his to give – it was his way of showing friendship and he expected us to ask for gifts in the same spirit. Many did, Philotas was the most avid at it, but some refused persistently – such as Maks – and Alexander began to get a little miffed with the man.

One day on the ball court he started to notice that Maks was refusing to send the ball his way at all. "What about me?" he finally yelled to receive the terse reply "You didn't ask." There was a moment of stunned silence and then Alexander roared with laughter. The following day Maks received the most splendid Nissian horse my lover could find – a blue roan with a grey mane and tail; the Egyptian showed the first sign of emotion I had ever seen on his face then and accepted the gift. Alexander was jubilant.

It was at Susa that he finally decided to settle the Royal Family on a permanent basis before we moved on to our next objective, the Persian Gates that led to Persepolis.

The strap had stopped the gorge by building a wall across it. Like Thermopylae in reverse we were shown a path by a farmer that led round the obstruction and the Gates fell. The way to Persepolis was open.

A messenger from a frightened treasurer told us the city was in uproar and we approached in battle order once again. What met us on the road brought back memories of Issus; thousands of Greek slaves had been released and they had made their slow way out to greet their fellow countrymen – as well as their mutilated bodies could take them, that is; Alexander promised them a safe passage home but they refused – what would they do at home, apart from being stared at as freaks? Instead he gave them land and built them a village for themselves and their Persian wives and children. It was a sad sight we left and coloured our perception of the city before us.

When we reached the city he did something he had never done in the whole campaign: he let the men off the leash – for a day they could ransack the city to their hearts content, within certain boundaries; no rape and no stealing any woman's personal jewellery. The treasury was intact and the man who had guarded it was rewarded.

Here my scouts came back to tell us Darius was holed up for the winter at Ecbatana so we stayed at Persepolis for the season as well. Alexander went off to visit the tomb of Cyrus but I stayed working on the logistics for the next phase of the campaign. I was invited to the governor's home for a banquet where he had laid on lavish entertainment for us. And it was there that I met Circe.

She was a Corinthian courtesan who had been brought to Asia by one of Memnon's Greek mercenaries and when he had died had attached herself to the governor's household here. Beautiful as a morning in spring, she had golden hair and blue eyes that looked into mine and melted; I was entranced, bewitched as her name implied and I didn't care. Our affair was brazen and conducted in full view of a somewhat surprised group of friends. Well, what did they think I was? She made me feel so sure of myself, I had nothing to prove here either in courage or ability, except the type I performed in bed and she enjoyed that well enough. It wasn't as if I would marry her; she wasn't intelligent enough to satisfy me as a long term mate as Thais was for Ptolemy. But I had Alexander for that, didn't I?

Acte was not impressed either, but not in a jealous way – she simply thought Circe an empty headed idiot. One morning Acte walked in with a tray as Circe was leaving me.

"Farewell, my stallion. Until tonight." I could _feel_ Acte's eyes rolling!

When the door closed behind her I walked over to pour myself some wine and addressed Acte and the two pages in the room.

"First one that even smiles will not sit down for a week. Why are _you_ here Acte?"

"Well, I went to the kitchen to bring you some food to break your fast. But now I see I need to go back and change it for something more appropriate – such as oats and hay."

"Go away."

The spring was upon us and it was time to move. Alexander had now completed his mission for the League and he wanted to send a message to all, Persians and Greeks alike, that they would understand. I was ordered to clear the palace of all the treasure and archives, the latter to be sent onto Susa, but he never told me his whole plan – since he had returned from seeing Cyrus' tomb and found me embroiled with Circe we had barely been civil to each other. Well, that was his problem.

On our last night he held a banquet in the main audience hall of the palace; the place was impressive by any standards but the decoration was designed to make the subjected peoples feel exactly that as they mounted the stairs, flanked by tile and terracotta versions of themselves coming to pay tribute to the great king.

Ptolemy and I were sitting close to each other and beside the King; Thais sat with her lover and I had a wriggling Circe on my couch – Alexander shared his with the Governor. As the evening progressed and the wine flowed into me I lost all sense of where I was and Circe was making mewling sounds that I knew from old meant she wanted to be fucked; I was up for it there and then, only to be stayed in my mounting by Alexander's voice booming out close to my ear.

"Tonight we celebrate the victory of the Greeks over the oppressor, Xerxes. How shall we give it a fitting end?"

"Burn it, my king!" Thais cried, standing up, her lovely face contorted in rage. "Burn it! They burned Athens, let this place burn!"

What? I pulled my sluggish mind back or tried to but I couldn't believe he was actually considering doing it. Before I had any chance to ask he had hauled me, bodily, off Circe, and started to drag me away to the other side of the room to get a torch. I was livid at this treatment before all the generals – I wasn't his toy to be dragged from pillar to post and I shrugged his hand off my arm brusquely.

He threw a torch to Thais who had followed us and I stood there glaring at him.

"Get a torch Hephaestion and follow me."

"Go to Hades. Why did you do that?"

"I want to send a message as clear as I can that the empire is under new management; I also want to give the Athenians their vengeance and also let them know that from now on I have no obligations to them. Get a torch, general."

"I may be drunk, Alexander but I'm not a fool. I know all that, why else have you had me emptying the palace the last two days? I was talking about your reaction to Circe…"

He stood so close to me our chests touched. "Keep the bitch under control and if you can't control yourself at least do it in private!"

"You embarrassed me…"

"You embarrass yourself! You embarrass me!"

Achilles and Patroclus – again. Was I ever to break away from that shadow? As it turned out, yes, in a way that I never wanted. But the palace at Persepolis was burned to singing and jubilation; it was a perfect piece of theatre which he was so good at putting on – the Athenians would enjoy the story that it was suggested by an Athenian whore, what a perfect irony and the men actually believed it presaged their return home.

Neither was true – Thais had been instructed well and we were not turning back. We headed north to Ecbatana and Darius – only to find he had gone. It was my first visit to this city built on seven interlocking levels set in a mountainous region for its cool air in the summer. Here the remaining Greek Allies were dismissed, those that wanted to go.

Leaving Ecbatana behind we followed the errant king towards the Caspian Gates, which led into Bactria. It was some weeks into the march when the scouts returned, with Maks at their head. They had finally found Darius – our search was over, but not in the way any of us had expected.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

A/N – Torture in this scene, some sex and a lot of angst.Entrance of Bagoas!

Chapter Sixteen

The King of Kings, Darius, was dead – stabbed and left to bleed to death in a mule cart whose beasts had been hamstrung. Maks had found the man dying and given him water. The mules he had humanely put down.

When Alexander came to view the body he covered the blood matted face with his own cloak and ordered the body to be sent back to Susa for the proper burial. The man had been a bad general but he was still a king and merited respect. We learned later from Artabazus, and another source, that Bessus and Nabarzanes had led a coup against a king they believed the gods had abandoned: as they reached the Gates to Bactria, Bessus' satrapy, they moved against him and arrested him, dragging him away eventually to such an ignominious death. Bessus soon acclaimed himself Great King, much to Alexander's fury. This was not to be born!

Whatever else happened we marched on. Bessus could not be left – he was a threat and an insult to Alexander who now considered himself Darius' rightful heir by conquest. It was at the plains of Hyrcanian, bordering the Caspian Sea that we first realised that Bessus' kingship was not as welcomed as he imagined. Into the camp rode one of the ring leaders of the coup against Darius – Nabarzanes; and he did not come alone.

He sued for pardon. Alexander respected him as a great cavalry commander and opponent but could not trust to work with a man who had already committed treason against one king – he accepted his parole and sent him home; at least he kept his head. He left many gifts for my king, one of which had meant much to the Darius – a eunuch, a young boy no more than sixteen summers, by the name of Bagoas.

I never took much notice of him in those first few days except to note he was very beautiful in a willowy, feminine way, with dark curls and darker eyes. He moved about Alexander's tent like a shadow, never raising his head. I saw little of him as Alexander and I were barely on speaking terms after Persepolis. He ordered me away on a supply mission to gather what we would need when we entered Bactria and to spy out the land. I would be gone over a month and had a tearful farewell, as well as an exhausting one, with my Circe. The following day I kissed her goodbye, mounted my horse and rode out of camp without a backward glance in her direction, Maks beside me.

The mission was hard and gruelling. We ran into small bands of Bactrians who harassed us, trying to get past us to spy on Alexander. It was tough, guerrilla fighting and my men proved themselves adept at it, as I did myself. Strangely I could never get into the mind set of a large pitched battle but this – it was more akin to hunting than battle; you had to put yourself in the mind of your prey and act how you believed they would; it stretched the brain as well as the muscles and I actually enjoyed it. Finally I finished setting up the forward depots, leaving a garrison to protect them and retraced my steps back to the main army.

We rode in at dusk and I found my tent only long enough to clean up a little before going to see my king. Acte was there and suggested I might want to send a messenger to announce my arrival first. Why would I need to do that? I asked. Alexander and I had argued but he had never closed his door to me before. Shrugging off her suggestion I headed for his tent and walked in unannounced. I heard the sounds of lovemaking before I ever reached his sleeping area and as I lifted up the curtain I saw him lying on top of the little eunuch, thrusting away until he came in a shout. I couldn't move. Pulling out of the boy he fell on his back on the bed and saw me for the first time.

"Hephaestion! I'm glad to see you back." He said to me, sitting up. "I will be glad to receive your report – in the morning, General. You're dismissed."

I saluted my king and turned to leave but not before I caught the glint in that little bastard eunuch's eyes – he was laughing at me.

I walked back to my tent seeing no one. Once inside I dismissed all my attendants and sank onto the bed. My heart was breaking through my ribs and I felt the tell-tale sting of tears in my eyes. What did I expect? He had taken lovers before this and they had had no affect on me. But we had not been estranged as long as this before and the eunuch was something different, I knew that now.

Getting off the small bed I stumbled over to the table to pour myself some wine and looked up to see my reflection in a mirror hanging there. I took a long hard look at the face before me; it was no longer the one I had looked at with admiration back in that hallway in Pella. The face was gaunter. I touched the scars on my cheeks and forehead, remembering when my skin had been as perfect as – yes the eunuch; he was ten years my junior, his skin smooth, his beauty unmarred by scars – and he would _never_ argue with his king nor question his actions; he would be all loving softness, not an abrasive old school friend.

I fell to my knees and wept.

It was over. We would no longer be lovers; I knew this with such certainty. But, my mind screamed, he still loves me and I acknowledged that; it was time to change our relationship and I had to recognise that fact as he had already done. I was still his Patroclus, he was still my Achilles – no boy would ever come between that, nor woman either. Now I had to set my mind to give him the love and loyalty of a dear friend, the dearest of friends; I would not abandon my role as advise or counsellor – he needed me too much for that; he needed someone he could trust to tell him the truth and I would always, I hoped, do that. I would learn to accept the limits of our relationship in anyway he wanted them.

"I love you, Alexander." I whispered, still on my knees. "I love you my king, my soul and I'll be whatever you need. But father Zeus; don't let him send me away!"

The following day I re-entered his tent, after having myself announced. He seemed happy and relaxed and I smiled at him, which he returned. I gave my report and he asked a number of questions then complimented me on my excellent work – in a tone of voice he used for every other officer on his staff. My report complete I saluted and left when he dismissed me.

It did not take long for the news to spread about the camp and within the Staff that I was no longer sharing his bed; my reputation was such that no one dared question me to my face about it but I saw the snide looks and heard the whispers. Only Cleitus, though saying nothing, signalled his sympathy to me with his eyes. I held onto that like a lifeline for I was truly lost and abandoned without _my_ Alexander at my side. He was no longer that and I had to get on with my life; after all, it had lasted far longer than anyone would have thought possible. Olympias would be pleased at least.

We were about to head into Bactria and Alexander chose this time to give Parmenion a post that would mean no more combat duties; he was seventy after all and he deserved a rest so he was put in charge of a third of the army and given access to the treasury at Ecbatana; his job was to cover our rear as we went hunting Bessus.

Nearing the lands of a tribe called Mardians, some bandits struck at the horse lines and stole away a number of mounts, including Bucephalus. The whole army was outraged and when Alexander sent heralds to announce to the thieves "Bring him back or I'll burn you out and crucify you all, women and children." They were fully committed to follow his orders: Bucephalus was the same age as I, nearly twenty-six, and though no longer of use to Alexander as a warhorse, he was still cherished for what he had been rather than what he was now – much as I was now.

They brought him back. Garlanded and caparisoned in a gaudy horse blanket he re-entered the camp to the hoarse cheers of all Macedonians there; he was as much a part of the legend of their king as the king himself and they loved him as much. For his part, Bucephalus knew when he was centre stage and pranced to meet an openly crying Alexander, where he then, without an order, bent his knee, so he would once more be the seat of godhead. Alexander mounted and rode through the camp to the cries and tears of the men. I watched the faces of the assembled Persians, all of whom looked completely confused – why were we making such a fuss over an old horse that didn't look anything compared to their Nissians? Only Artabazus stood with tears in his eyes – he understood. As Alexander trotted back he stopped before me and we shared a smile, meant only for us two. We had also come back from a dark place, lost and bewildered; now we could go on in our new life together.

About this time Alexander began to act as Great King before the Persians – it was politically astute and required – they understood that and would follow him. The Macedonians also accepted it whilst it was kept within the bounds of his dealings with the Asians. It was when he started to come to dinner with us wearing a form of Persianised dress and then wore it in public that tongues started to wag. He wore no trousers, but a long robe of silk tied with a sash – not much but it wasn't Greek. Many believed it was a fad, as was sharing his bed with the eunuch, one he would get over, but others realised it was no such thing. He _liked_ these Persians; he liked their culture and their manners, so different from the boorishness of Macedonians; he liked their clothes, to a point, and their way of showing deference to him; and he liked his eunuch.

One morning I walked past the tent Callisthenes used as a school room for the pages and overheard a conversation he was having with Philotas.

"It's gone beyond reason. First of all he demotes your father and now he struts about wearing barbarian clothes! Next he'll have us bowing to him with our arses in the air the way they do."

"He's been heading this way since Egypt, Callisthenes. At least that Athenian whore, Hephaestion, was at least Greek but to kick him out for a Persian, and one that isn't even a man anymore…"

"True, true. But now the General no longer shares his bed he's less likely to get any further promotions he is not fit for."

"Um – don't be so sure of that. They're no longer lovers but Alexander still trusts Hephaestion. Whatever else that bastard is, he's loyal however often the king kicks him in the teeth."

"I hear he sent that Corinthian whore back to Susa! How did the General take that?"

I hadn't even thought about Circe since I got back so I was hardly angered at what he had done. Walking quietly away from the tent I vowed to keep an eye on both men more closely from now on. But what they had said worried me and I decided to talk to Alexander about what he was doing and how it was affecting the morale of the Staff.

I asked to see him that night and when I entered the tent there was no sign of the boy and I silently thanked him for his tact there at least. We took our wine and sat at his work table and I told him some of the things I heard about the camp, but mentioning no names. He listened attentively and said he understood how the men felt but he had to integrate the Persians into the command as they were now his responsibility as well as the Macedonians.

"I understand that Alexander, but it seems to some as if you are favouring them over your own countrymen."

"Would you have me do as Aristotle has written 'commanding' me to do? Massacre or enslave them? After all he is more your mentor than mine."

I put down my cup on the table and leaned on it to lock his eyes with mine.

"That was unfair and I said no such thing. I am telling you to go slowly on this Alexander or you will lose the army over it."

"The army? Or you? This is about Bagoas, isn't it? You're jealous!"

"Oh, by Hera's tits man, I'm no such thing. I couldn't care if you fill your bed with sheep – which you appear to have done of late – but I will _still_ advise you when I think you're making an ass of yourself, as you are doing now! Will you listen to me?"

It was a brutal, silent fight, but I saw his eyes lighten and he nodded curtly. Good, he wasn't entirely lost to me then. By the end of the night he agreed never to wear Persian attire about the Greeks anymore and be less open in his affection for the boy.

We moved on, I believed, mistakenly as it turned out, in a more understanding mood between the king and his Staff. Arriving at the stronghold of Drangiana we settled in for a few weeks of rest under a proper roof instead of tents. I looked forward to catching up on some correspondence and working with Tefi to reorganise the supply administration to be more efficient; it would cost more and Eumenes was not happy and let me know in no uncertain terms – as I was no longer 'favourite' he felt he could dismiss my requirements out of hand; Alexander disabused him of that fast enough.

I had just risen when a messenger arrived at my door with instructions from my king that seemed strange to me; once they were completed I was to report to him immediately. I did as bid, dressed in armour and headed to his rooms. There I found him in shallow conversation with Philotas, marking the whiteness about his mouth, always a sign of impending anger, and nodded quietly to him that his instructions had been carried out: the camp had been sealed.

At this he called for the guards to come in and announced to an astonished Philotas, not to mention myself that he was under arrest for treason.

"Treason? What are you talking about Alexander?" he cried, still with a sneer in his voice.

"You were told of a plot against me by a man called Dymnus and you did not report it to me. Why?"

"I was told no such thing…"

"His lover says different. He tells me his brother came to you, twice, and each time you said I had been too busy for you to mention it to me – on a day when you and I had gone hunting and you had every opportunity to tell me! I want to know why."

Philotas shrugged. "I didn't consider it important – it was no threat."

At this point I saw red, literally, before my eyes and would have attacked him but for my king's restraining hand. He ordered the guards to take him away.

"Hephaestion, I need you and Craterus to do something for me. I need to know if his father knew of this, in any way."

"Yes – my king." We both answered, as did Coenus; he was married to Parmenion's daughter and was in deep trouble here if he couldn't persuade Alexander of his loyalty.

He pulled me aside for a moment as the others left.

"I need you to be a part of this examination, Phai. I can trust only you to give me the truth. Craterus has worked too long against Philotas on his own agenda and Coenus is terrified. Get what I _must_ have, Phai."

"Yes, Xander. I know exactly what to do."

Dymnus had killed himself when he was arrested and the others in the plot were lowly officers of no great rank; except for one of the Royal Bodyguard and _that_ was what Alexander was worried about. He needed to know names.

Craterus had finally gotten Philotas where he wanted him after years of constant campaigning. My reasons for being there were far simpler, or so I thought, more personal and much deadlier. Before the other two arrived I went to see the prisoner alone.

He was no longer the dandy in his fine clothes but a terrified, sweating, soiled piece of a man chained to the wall. His eyes were huge, almost bulging out if their sockets but I distinctly heard him breathe a sigh of relief that it was only me and not Craterus. Even now, the man continued to underestimate me.

"Hephaestion, please! Talk to Alexander! I'm not guilty of treason or plotting his death!"

"I know, Philotas, I know." I replied, my voice calm and soft, gentling as I stood before him. But I was remembering a conversation I had had with Maks in Egypt.

"Thank the gods." He whispered.

"I don't believe you had any hand in this plot but you did know they were planning to try something, didn't you?" it took every ounce of willpower I had to keep my hands by my side and not rip his lying tongue from his throat.

"Oh, they told me but they would never have gone through with it."

"You know that, how?" my voice still gentle and lulling.

"How? Well – look at them, Hephaestion. Not one is of noble birth!"

"I see."

I stood as close as I could to him without climbing into his skin with him and finally saw what I was looking for – fear.

"You decided to risk the life of our king on your ability to judge people; people you wouldn't stop to piss on.

"YOU decided to risk the life of MY love because you didn't think this plot was worth MENTIONING on the grounds of their social status?"

I grabbed his chin in my hand and put enough pressure in it that I heard cartilage crack and his jaw dislocate.

"I know you are innocent of plotting his death and I know your father is too. And I don't care, Philotas. Silence is as much treason as a knife in the dark but that is not the reason I'll see you die. When you stand at that stake and feel the thud of the spears entering your body, die in the knowledge that your truly _innocent_ father will be dead barely days after yourself – and the reason you will die is because you very nearly took my Alexander away from me. Oh, I know, you think we are no longer lovers – and physically that is true – but he is my heart still and you wanted that heart dead."

I twisted his chin sharply and hit him hard across the face, putting back the dislocated jaw, we needed him to be able to talk after all. Credit where it is due, he never uttered a sound but the tears were there, silent; silent as the waters of the Styx.

Craterus and Coenus then arrived and we set to work. Fists, fingers, whips, knives and hot irons; we worked on him for twelve hours but got nothing – as I had expected, he knew nothing of it save of one boy who gave him a message about a plot. We left him at dusk a bloody mass of flesh and bone. Craterus and Coenus went to get a drink for very different reasons and I reported to Alexander what he did not want to know.

I went back to my room and poured some wine but my hands were shaking so hard I spilt all of it on to the ground. I was in shock, not for what I had done but for suddenly realising the truth behind why I had done it. And it had nothing to do with Philotas or my hatred of him anymore, but everything to do with Alexander. I had enjoyed it, inflicting the pain, seeing the blood and the bruises, hearing the bones break but not for his sake, not for his crime.

I realised as I sat there holding an empty cup that the man I had wanted to hurt in that cell was Alexander himself; for the humiliation he had put me through; for my jealousy of that bloody eunuch that he had replaced me with so publicly. Oh, how I wanted to crush his ribs and hear him cry out! But I didn't want that, not really; I loved him so much that my anger was at war with my terror at his nearly being killed by Philotas' snobbery.

Philotas was tried and condemned before the Army Council and executed the same day, along with six others in the plot. If anyone tells you his death sent shock waves through the army it is true, but not for the reason that they believed the King was becoming a tyrant; we were Macedonians, we recognised a man's right to blood feud and vengeance if attacked. This was no different. Nor was the death of Parmenion, which was announced a week later. His men had accepted that he was responsible for his son's treason as head of the family and his fate was justified. This made it no easier for Alexander to come to terms with. He may not have got on with Parmenion but he respected his abilities as a soldier; he also recognised his own responsibility as king to deal swiftly with rebellion.

One outcome of all this was his sensible decision never to put the Companion Cavalry under the command of one man again – he split it between Cleitus and me; one to satisfy the old guard, the other a more personal choice. I was content with the reasoning and knew Cleitus was a better tactician and strategist than I, whilst I could deal with the organisation and administration side far more effectively than he could – our personal skills complemented each other as mine did with the king.

Some weeks later as we moved further on, we camped near a small river for a few days and I was invited, unexpectedly, to visit my king for a private supper one night. As I arrived he dismissed Bagoas and the other servants; it truly was to be private.

We talked of work and how I was getting on with Cleitus and the troops reactions to all that happened, then we fell into a strained silence as we had never done before.

"Phai – what has gone wrong between us? Why have you become so – distant?"

"It was always going to happen, Alexander. No relationship stays the same for ever. It took me some time to accept that we will never be – intimate – anymore. Part of it was my fault, I'll readily admit and I'm sorry for flaunting that bitch in your face. But nothing will ever change my love for you and you will always have my loyalty and total devotion to your dream. Sleep well, my king."

I rose to take my leave, lifting his hand and kissing the Royal Signet, but he grabbed my hand and would not let me leave.

"You are so wrong, my love. I have never stopped wanting you. What has happened to make you think that?"

I couldn't believe my ears! He was denying it all; the eunuch, the dismissive way he had treated me for weeks and now he was laying all the blame on me?

"Damn you Alexander! You know why – it walked out of here barely an hour ago!"

"Bagoas? Is that all?"

That was not all but it was the final straw as far as my emotions were concerned for the past few weeks; his attitude to me, the boy and Philotas all swelled up until I could barely see or think straight. Which is when I found myself ripping the robe off his body and throwing him down on the floor with no more consideration that he was my king than I would have shown a whore. He fought me for awhile but finally my brutal kisses, biting his lips and neck till blood flowed had him as aroused as I was myself and I rammed into him with all the force my anger could give me, pumping his cock with no other thought than to feel him come when I wanted – he did, at the same time as I filled him with my own seed.

After we had eased our aching bodies onto his bed, I held him fast in my arms. Quietly we began to talk, really talk, and so eased our pain and once again understood each other.

"It was that woman, you know." He said to me.

"Circe?"

"I was so jealous of her hold on you and I thought I'd lost you to her. When I sent you on the supply mission it was as much for me to come to terms with your loss as my need for supplies. That's when I took Bagoas to my bed."

"You took him to your bed because of that damn woman? What did you do with her?" I asked, not letting on I already knew – I wanted to see if he would be honest.

"I sent her to Susa as soon as you left. Should I bring her back?" his voice was quiet and I detected a hint of fear as to what my answer would be. Good.

"No – but you can get rid of the damn eunuch."

"I will not, I enjoy him too much."

"Of course you do! Because he's young, and beautiful and soft to touch, unlike me. Now you see what I mean." I sat up and grabbed my chiton attempting to pull it over my head, but he tore it out of my hands and threw it away.

Pushing me down, he straddled my hips, locking my arms above my head.

"No one, NO ONE, is more beautiful than you! Even when you're sixty, no one will be as beautiful. He's nothing but a body, Phai; a pliant one and a pleasant one, but he has no part of my heart, or no more than any servant who is my responsibility – in fact I think I have less 'love' for him than I do for Peritas."

"That must put me somewhere, then, between the dog and your bloody horse!"

"About there, yes."

He made love to me, far more gently than I had to him, and I could not hold back my cries as I felt him once more inside of me, branding me as his own as I had him. The two halves were once more conjoined, a little better for the maturity we had been forced to add to our relationship. But we had weathered this storm and I felt my strength renewed again. It was fortunate Philotas was already dead – he would have been so pissed.

"I won't send Bagoas away, Phai. He's teaching me so many things about the etiquette of the court that the Persians expect from me."

"That's what it's called now…"

"Phaestion!"

"Well, that little manoeuvre with your tongue down there was definitely new…"

"And how you enjoyed it, my slutty General."

"Well – maybe he does have his uses. But keep him away from me and don't flaunt him in my face."

To this he agreed. The following morning, late, I returned to my own tent. On the way there I met Bagoas, looking red eyed and unhappy. Winking at him I walked off whistling very much aware of the hole he was burning in my back. The gods I felt good!

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

A/N Hephaestion is now into the first week of typhoid with high fever, loss of appetite, cough and headache. As this part progresses his symptoms will worsen until he gets too weak to carry on. Anyone interest I got the symptoms off . The story gets a little dark from now on so be warned!

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PART THREE

Chapter Seventeen

The fever has been very high this week so that sweat has poured off me like the melting snow from Mount Olympus. I have no appetite; I cough every time I try to speak and my head feels as if my neck can no longer support its weight.

And now I can feel the cramps in my gut getting worse, the pain grabbing me with no warning as if someone was trying to rip my innards out with a fruit knife. I know what this is; I've seen it a hundred, thousand times before – in India, in unclean camps. Some survive it; if I can get through the next few weeks I have a good chance but – I know I'm going to lose this fight. Alexander has now taken to staying with me all night; I'm well enough to be left during the day with only twenty or thirty visits!

But I will not finish this writing. I feel the weakness in my arm, the energy draining from me by the minute. I must try to get as much done as I can.

Where was I? Ah, yes – the Hindu Kush…

The campaign against Bessus took two years of guerrilla fighting and putting down small revolts he was fomenting in his wake – the man was so scared of Alexander he never gave us full battle.

To assist in this Alexander split the Companions into five _hipparchies_ under the command of Cleitus, who got two, Ptolemy, one for himself and finally me. On top of my command I continued as the logistics officer and this part of my job now came under its biggest challenge yet – getting the army through the Hindu Kush.

I have never felt so cold in my life! Bessus was being sensible and destroying crops as he went but in such a spasmodic manner that my foraging parties always found enough. We didn't eat like kings, but we ate. What was worse was the strange sickness that befell us as we climbed ever higher into those mountains – listlessness, shortness of breath and loss of knowing where we were; the locals said it had something to do with us not being used to the air. I sent word of it to Aristotle and he wrote back that it was a common occurrence when climbing very high – he believed it had something to do with the brain not getting sufficient air to function. Whatever it was we had to keep an eagle eye out for men, and women and children, who were suffering with it. Alexander crossed that range more than once as he was constantly going up and down the line, joking with the men and hauling stragglers out of snow drifts who had decided all they wanted was to sleep.

We were no longer an army but a moving city containing everything it needed – slaves, cooks, doctors, engineers, architects, not to mention armourers, grooms and military engineers. The administration of the empire also went with us with an army of scribes and wagon upon wagon filled with the archive.

Finally we were over and onto the other side and heading for the river Oxus. Here Alexander gave Artabazus the satrapy of Bactria to hold whilst we moved on, after resting a few days, into the desert.

From freezing cold to raging heat, the contrast couldn't have been more exact. We travelled by night as the heat during the day was far worse than it had been in Egypt – or so it seemed. It was a nightmare. The joy felt at the sight of the Oxus was palpable throughout the whole army as a physical thing. I commandeered as many tents as I needed, had them sewn together and filled with hay and lashed together to form rafts. The crossing took five days. We lost a few men and animals but not as many as I feared.

Word was sent to us soon after that Bessus had been deposed and left for Alexander in a village some miles away. He did not go himself – the man was a regicide not a king and deserved no such honour. When Ptolemy brought him back he was flogged then handed to Oxathres, Darius' younger brother who had joined us, and was marched back to Ecbatana for trial in the Persian manner – it would mean mutilation, ears and nose cut off and being impaled on a cross. Some muttered that Alexander was becoming _too_ Persianised but he was now Great King and had to deal with different races according to their own laws.

Our next objective was Samarkand and our first run in with the Scythians. In one explosive fight, Alexander got an arrow in his leg, splitting the bone, so he couldn't ride; he rode in a litter instead, carried by the infantry – until the cavalry started to get jealous and complained so he split the job between the two. He told me after one particularly gruelling day being carried around that the infantry were a lot better at it than the horse men, being more used to walking I suppose. But I saw in his face the pleasure he got from the knowledge that his men loved him so much they were prepared to fight over the honour of carrying him. Love feeds him more than food ever does.

We took Samarkand, garrisoned it and moved on to quell the local chieftains but they decided to attack the city in our rear and when the relief force was cut up, Alexander back tracked to raise the siege himself. At one point he was hit in the throat by a stone and couldn't speak for days though he did keep trying – we dealt with this in different ways; Bagoas would not take any verbal orders from him at all and only accepted them when asked in sign language or written down- very clever; I took the easier option and walked out the tent. The eunuch and I had come to a wary acceptance of the other, we tolerated each other and the boy did take care of him for me whilst I wasn't there – what else they did I kept firmly to the back of my mind and totally forgot at the reception I always received from Alexander when I returned from a mission, even if only for a few days. What ever bruising my heart had had it was clear now.

Then the Scythians appeared, horsemen of the plain – I swear by all the gods they were taunting us! I led a small force across the river, as did Alexander, but neither of us managed to bring them down – they disappeared into the mists like spirits; the Persians with us explained that none of their kings had ever been able to bring them to heel and this mollified my feelings of frustration somewhat but not Alexander. He hated defeat in any form. But the men were suffering, having only the water to drink and they were going down with diarrhoea. Just as we were turning to go back they appeared again – this time to parley. We sat down and came to the agreement he would leave them alone if they left our line of communication un-harmed – they agreed and we even went back with a small regiment of them to swell our ranks.

I can't recall the exact time or place but I know it was around here that Alexander decided something that was to cause a great deal of trouble and finally grief.

As Great King the Persians did obeisance to him, the _prosknesis_; the man approached the king, got down on his knees and bowed his forehead to the ground. I had seen this performed many times by our Persian allies and they did it with becoming grace – still the Macedonians, who bowed only to the gods, found it hilarious and openly laughed. Alexander decided this had to stop. He was king of all and he needed a way to bring the two sides together in a uniform salute of his position as king so that his place was clearly understood – to the Asians the king was above all; not so with us and it was our cursory attitude to him, calling him by name instead of 'your majesty' that shocked them to the core.

How could he get the Macedonians to bow to him at least once – then he could give them the Kiss of Kindred and they wouldn't have to do it any more. Well, good luck to you, I said, much to his annoyance. His first attempt was to try and get his divinity accepted as the son of Ammon – if they did that then they wouldn't mind bowing. Oh, how that didn't work! Mainly due to Callisthenes I might add standing up and giving a lecture on hubris. So he decided to try another tack, or at least asked me to think of one.

Of one thing I was sure it had to be only Macedonians, no Persians in sight to see this 'humiliation', and totally private. I talked him out of making it army wide and restricted to the Staff and Friends at a small supper party. For days before I spent hours talking to each individual man on how he needed to meld the Persians into our army and what would happen; every one of them agreed to it, putting the King before their own feelings for once – it would only be the once and in private, so they accepted. Even Callisthenes never murmured a word against it – which immediately worried me. I discussed this with Alexander and together we came up with a plan to deal with him when the time came, as I knew it would.

The party went very smoothly. Alexander and I had devised the ceremony ourselves which would lead to the _proskynesis_. A loving cup was brought in and the king drank from it; he then passed to me. Having drank to him I handed it back and rose from the couch to stand before him; I had been practising this for days (which was one of the reasons I chose to wear a Persian robe over my chiton, to save my blushes) and knelt down and bowed in one fluid motion before standing up and going to him to receive the Kiss – it was on the mouth which denoted I was now considered Kindred and need never bow again.

Every one of the officers there drank, came forward and bowed and received their Kiss. It was all going so smoothly, too smoothly; it was the turn of Callisthenes. As he approached our couch I said something to Alexander that made him turn to look at me instead of the old philosopher, as planned. When he turned back Callisthenes was standing before him waiting for his kiss – which was the point when one of the others ruined everything by crying out 'he never bowed so he shouldn't get a kiss!' However well a plan is set you can never account for everyone's actions – of course we knew he hadn't bowed; by distracting Alexander it took the sting out of Callisthenes action to wound but allowed the king the freedom to ignore the old fools insult. Not so now. He had to refuse the Kiss of Kindred and Callisthenes had won his point, saying loudly "So I go short of a kiss."

Alexander quietly dropped the whole idea of _proskynesis._

Soon after this Artabazus sent him word that he wished to retire from the Bactrian satrapy – he was in his ninety's and 'feeling his age'. Alexander's replacement was to surprise many of us but none thought it would end in the tragedy it did.

He chose Cleitus. This would not be a temporary post but a permanent one – he was being retired and he knew it. Why was the question I asked myself? He was one of the best generals on the staff and the men doted on him; it was clear Alexander wanted him gone and this 'honour', he felt, would be the way to do it. Cleitus did not see it that way and nor did I. I knew why he was being abandoned in the middle of Asia – me.

We had made love again only once when I had returned to find my king with his eunuch. Since then we had become true friends much to Alexander's growing annoyance. I recalled his words to me, so many years ago, that he would never let me fall in love with anyone else; he succeeded. I was never in love with Circe but Cleitus was a different matter.

The day was the Feast day of Dionysus but Alexander, for some unknown reason, sacrificed to the Twins, Castor and Pollux instead. Then he called a feast. Cleitus had decided to sacrifice to Dionysus himself but before he had started he was called to the feast and he came away, unaware that the sheep he had planned to offer the god were following him. It was a bad omen and Alexander was genuinely worried for the man, ordering the seers to sacrifice immediately to appease the god. It didn't work. The water was bad here so we drank unwatered wine. The court poet sang of his feats by denigrating some officers who had erred at Samarkand and had to be saved by the king himself. As always when in his cups he liked to go over his feats again and again and started to say he even rivalled the Twins in his ability as a soldier.

And this was when Cleitus started in on him. He told him that to compare himself with a god was hubris in its worst form. Alexander retorted by recounting how he had raised the siege at Samarkand.

"Did you do it on your own, son of Zeus? If memory serves there was an army there with you!"

"I'm aware of that. No army has been given as much as mine! I keep little for myself."

"Yes – you give it away to your Asians and your sycophant friends! Do you listen to the army any more? Do you listen to your generals? No – one by one we'll be packed off to some god forsaken backwater in your 'empire' to rot."

"Bactria is one of the most important satrapies in the empire – some meagre retirement I'm giving you!"

"It was never your father's plan to become king of Asia…"

"I am not Philip."

"No – you're not."

This was getting out of hand and Ptolemy pulled at Cleitus' arm trying to make him either sit down or leave – but it was too late. Beside me Alexander stiffened as if struck.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's _his _army that's won your battles for you; _his_ training that taught these men, and you, how to fight. And how do you honour him? By denying he's even your father! By forcing on us all this – bullshit – that you are a son of a god!"

"Be careful Cleitus! You mock the gods!"

"I mock them? You insufferable boy, it is you that does so! Putting Asians in command of _our_ men; aping their ways and bedding their king's cast-offs; trying to make Macedonians bow down before you! You make fun of brave men to glorify yourself and you say _I_ mock the gods?"

"Leave Cleitus – while you can."

I signalled to Ptolemy and Leonnatus to get the man out of there; they dragged him away, still yelling, whilst I held onto Alexander – he was shaking, as if in an ague, with pure rage.

"Come away, my king. Leave this madness and let yourself calm down. Come away, now."

He let me lead him out. We had reached the guards at the door when to be my horror I saw Cleitus striding back towards us. Oh, which god was doing this? I frantically shook my head at him but he never saw me – only Alexander.

"What did the oracle at Siwah tell you Alexander? Did it confirm your mother was a whore as we've all suspected…"

With a cry that could have awoken the dead Alexander screamed in shear pain, grabbed a spear from the nearest guard and drove it with all his strength into Cleitus' heart. He fell dead at my feet, his last look at me not one of surprise but, almost joy – had he done this deliberately? I had no time for my own grief as an ear piercing keening wail assaulted them. Looking down I saw Alexander on his knees beside the fallen man, clawing at him, begging him to get up; then he realised it was a corpse at his feet and, pulling out the spear, started to turn it on himself. The guard, fully alert now and unmindful of disrespect, pushed his king back towards me so that he could grab the spear and take it out of reach.

With the help of Nearchus and Perdiccas I got him back to his tent. He was catatonic, in shock; I needed to break this and slapped him, once, twice, and three times so hard I broke the small finger on my left hand. It was also my way of letting out my anger at him for killing my – what? Yes, killing my lover. I could admit that now.

What he had done broke major laws in Macedon. As a king he had killed a man who was only asserting his Macedonian right to free speech. The man had saved his life at the Granicus and many other times; besides he had known him since a boy when Cleitus' sister was his nurse and he had often visited the nursery. All this he knew as he grieved. For three days he neither ate nor drank; he wouldn't talk and he ignored everyone who came to him, except for Bagoas who kept him clean and wet his cracked lips with water. He did more than I at first for I was grieving myself and angry at him. But when the fourth day came round with no change I began to fear I would lose both of them; that his mind was broken.

Talking to the Staff I had them convene an Army Council – they were all Macedonians; they recognised a death caused by a drunken brawl, it happened all the time; they returned a verdict of treason against Cleitus – it was the only way, they hoped, to get him over what was, though painful, a common enough occurrence.

I dismissed Bagoas, mainly to get some sleep, and took Alexander into my arms, sitting on the floor from which he would not get up.

"The army have condemned him, Alexander. You are exonerated of blame." No reaction. "It was the will of the gods – a madness brought on deliberately by Dionysus because you ignored his Feast day and sacrificed to the Twins. He brought the madness onto both you and Cleitus who had never finished his own sacrifice."

Finally I felt him stir and raise his head to look at me.

"Truly – they forgive me?"

"The men will always do that, Alexander. They love you, they need you; I need you."

"You – loved –him." He asked, his voice raw but calm.

"Yes."

"Can you ever forgive me, Phai? I was sending him away because I couldn't bear him near you… I never meant to kill him…"

"Ssh. I forgive you, my love. He is at peace now. He was a soldier – to put him in Bactria would have killed him anyway. We need you to be strong, my king. Now come, eat. There are still worlds out there to conquer."

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

A/N - Things are speeding up here because he knows he's very ill and is trying to get as much in as possible: I was trying to write it from his perspective and thought if I was ill with typhoid your mind would wander, and concentrating on only the most important aspects of your life. Warning - angst coming up and Roxanne makes her appearance.

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Chapter Eighteen

The Sogdian Rock. It was perched high on a mountain, so high only a hawk could get to it let alone an army trying to break in through the valley. Oxyartes, its chieftain, sent a message that the only way the great 'Iskander' would ever get in was if he became a bird. But it had a weakness if only we could exploit it. Behind it rose an even greater cliff; get men up there and we could force the back door –or better yet, frighten the inhabitants into giving up. We indeed needed men who could fly.

There were no Icarus' in camp but we did have the next best thing, mountaineers. Macedon was a land of mountains and these men had spent their childhoods clambering up cliff faces after sheep or merely fun. I had also done this and asked Alexander if I could lead the team – he said no, politely but firmly.

"I can do it."

"Yes, I know you can – but I don't want to have to scrape you off the floor if you fall."

"Alexander…"

"Not this time, Phai."

I knew that tone and so left it but I regretted not getting to do the climb. We lost about ten men but the rest made it and signalled they were in position. Then Alexander rode up in sight of the fortress gates and called upon Oxyartes to look above and see that he truly had men who were birds. The Sogdians were as terrified as we had hoped and surrendered. Our 'birds' were feasted and given riches beyond what they needed. The dead were given the rights of heroes and their families looked after for the rest of their lives. Now we entered our prize and were invited to a feast put on by the chieftain.

The walls were of stone but the houses within made of brick and wood. They were dark places, built up of many stories and had small rooms. I found the architecture claustrophobic but warm. As to the people they treated us with polite deference but no enthusiasm; Maks came to me and said he was concerned – there was an undercurrent here he didn't like. The man's instincts had never failed me yet so I set some of my scouts about to mingle and gage the lye of the land. Maks' own men took on a lot of this and some were sent to reconnoitre the surrounding countryside.

Our host was congeniality itself, albeit toothless. Alexander was given a set of rooms deep within the fortress with an outer guardroom – I checked that there was only one way in which was good security but also made the hair on the back of my neck stand up – it was as perfect a place to entrap him as I had ever seen; he had no way to retreat. But by then he wasn't listening to me at all.

The first evening, as I said, Oxyartes threw us a feast and the entertainment was a dance by his daughters and some of the other Sogdian ladies. It was fast, furious and erotic despite, or because, they wore clothes from top to toe in elaborately embroidered costumes and headdresses. You had to be blind not to notice the lead dancer though – she was tiny but perfectly formed, beautiful as a panther with her dark eyes, kohl lined, holding you in their gaze and promising – everything. She turned them on every man there but most of all on Alexander. I was still watching the walls warily so I missed a lot of the interplay until Nearchus dug me in the ribs and told me to look at Alexander. I did and what I saw froze my blood.

He was mesmerised by her movements; nothing unusual there – I had seen him so as he watched Bagoas dance; but this time I saw more than pure lust in those grey depths that had turned as dark in their way as Roxanne's.

For that was her name: 'Little Star' and she had stolen his heart with one dance. The next day he sent her gifts and spent hours, chaperoned, talking to her using Tefi as his interpreter. Both Bagoas and I were left, literally, out in the cold – neither of us had been asked to accompany him. Well, if he wanted another mistress she seemed as good as any.

It was on the third night at the Rock that he sent for me, not for love, but to announce his decision to me in private before facing the Staff and the Generals with it. My reaction was heartfelt and instinctive and not at all diplomatic.

"Have you gone completely out of your mind, man? Marry the daughter of some petty hill chief that will bring you nothing! No allies, no wealth, no dignity and no use in your dream of uniting the people. You'll insult the Persians because you chose this woman over a princess of the blood, Stateira, whom I have been telling you to marry for years now; and you'll insult the Macedonians because you chose a barbarian from the backend of beyond rather than one of your noble's sisters. Alexander- you haven't thought this through! Take her as a mistress and be done with it."

I stopped, mainly to draw breath and then that hitched in my throat at the look he was giving me, one I had never seen before – I could only describe it as a look of hate.

"Have you finished?"

"That will depend on you, sire."

"I _will_ marry her. She has spirit. She will bring the tribes to me and she will show to my subjects, all of them, that I am serious in my endeavour to merge our people. And it will satisfy all of you who have been demanding I get an heir. Will it not?" his voice was icy quiet and dangerous.

I could so easily have agreed with him and left; but I owed it to him to remain steadfast in our friendship – he was making a very big mistake and I could not, would not, allow him to go on for want of advise held back through personal fear that I could alienate him from me for good.

"No, Alexander, it will not. I can see you think you love her; perhaps you do – but you've only known her few days. Please! Hear me out – I say this to you in friendship and deep love."

Ah, the magic words – they always made him stop and think. He sat and listened to me after that for hour upon hour until my voice gave out. What did I achieve? A postponement of his announcement to the generals until he had thought on it another night. I sent word to Bagoas to ensure that he 'entertained' his king that night, whilst I talked to Ptolemy about it. I needed some advice and we agreed that we couldn't let this go by without a concerted effort on my part to make him see sense. Ptolemy had also picked up on the charged atmosphere about the place and agreed to set his men on guard.

The following morning I visited my king passing the eunuch in the corridor – he looked ashen and shook his head at me; damn. Alexander was pacing up and down liked a cage lion; when I entered he started telling me of something his 'Roxanne' had told him of last night when he had visited her. I was not going to be defeated without a fight – call me obstinate, many do and for good reason, he would see sense if I had to beat it into him; which is what happened.

He had told me he was still going to marry her; I asked him how could he ignore what his best friend, the man he said he loved beyond everything, was telling him about this woman; he accused me of being jealous; I shot back that he should know – he had either killed or sent away anyone I loved. There I drew blood and he lunged at me but I moved faster and struck him across the back sending him sprawling; but he was up in an instant and had tackled me by the legs – we punched each other, kicked and scratched until we both had nose bleeds and scratches all over face and arms.

"I will NOT give her up! I want her and I love her. Please accept that, Phai, or…"

"Or what?"

He looked at me, one eye already discolouring where I had jabbed in my elbow. He didn't have to tell me in words: he would choose her, a woman he barely knew, over me. It was Bagoas all over again only this time the love was real and not merely lust. Well, I was a big enough man to accept the inevitable when it hit me in the face. Now all I was left with was to ensure that this marriage did as little damage to him as possible.

I got to my feet, holding out a hand to help him up and then hugged him to me for a long time.

"Be happy, my Alexander. And get us an heir."

His smile would have warmed my heart except I knew it was not really for me.

"Will you be groom man for me?"

The room spun then; of course, Patroclus must be seen, as ever, beside Achilles. "Yes – my king."

The meeting with the Generals went pretty much as I had expected – disastrously. It turned into a pure Macedonian slinging match and a lot of things were said that day that should not have been and were not, truly, forgotten or forgiven. I said nothing, standing at the back propping up a wall, a wine cup in my hand, giving him my silent support. I would only go so far and if he had expected me to be more vocal he was disappointed. The wedding was set for the next day. As I swept out after him, Craterus glared at me and opened his mouth to speak but I brushed past too quickly and left.

It was a typical wedding, except a lot of the 'guests' wished they were somewhere else. I did my part as groom man and then left – mainly because Maks had returned with an urgent message.

"There are about three thousand men heading in this direction culled from various tribes here about. We caught one and Oxyartes sent for them. He plans to murder Alexander and trap you within the Rock."

"How does he expect to get away with that?"

"Kill the head and the beast will tear itself apart – he's no fool, Hephaestion; he has studied you Greeks."

"Surely he knows that to kill the king would bring the whole army down on him?"

"Not if he kills all the Staff as well. The main army is encamped a few miles away – you are all in the Rock."

"How does he intend to kill the king? We will be guarding him constantly."

"Will you?"

Of course! One time he will be totally alone will be that night, with his bride – the bitch!

"As soon as he's dead I assume she intends to signal her father?"

Well, two can play at that game. We discussed a plan and he went off to put the first part into affect whilst I returned to the wedding feast and mingled until I found Ptolemy and explained it all to him. He went off to organise the Royal Guard to be ready for trouble and for them to take control of the main and lesser gates. Meanwhile, Maks had sent a courier off to the army to get them here as soon as possible – we need only hold for a day. My main concern was keeping Alexander alive for those hours. At a signal from Maks I knew that the second part was now ready to be implemented and I waited.

I waited for the bride to withdraw to prepare for her husband and I followed at a discreet distance, along with Tefi – I needed him as my voice. Hiding outside we waited, again, until her maids left her and she was alone. Ptolemy and Maks were to keep the impatient groom at bay until I had finished. I slipped into the room as quiet as a cat, Tefi close behind.

She was standing with her back to me, putting something small and glinting beneath the pillow of the bed – a dagger of which I had no doubt. Turning she saw me and I moved like lightening, clapping a hand over her mouth.

"Do you know who I am?" I asked, Tefi translating for me. She nodded. "I mean you no harm but we need to talk. If you scream I will kill you."

She looked up in to my eyes and saw I spoke the truth and nodded again.

Removing my hand I picked up a cloth soaked it in a bowl of water and deliberately washed it before her -it was an insult and she took it as such, her yes flashing at me. We recognised the spirit of the other and could now proceed without preamble.

"I know you plan to kill Alexander tonight. After you have made love? And you think he will sleep, sated; well, he doesn't sleep after sex, he lies awake and thinks – unless he is with someone he has known and trusted all his life…"

"You?" she spat. "I have heard of what you are – you have less excuse than that pathetic little cut creature. You Greeks are disgusting – in my land men such as you are crucified."

"Threats? Good. Let me give you some of my own. Do you recognise these?"

I handed over a small cloth bag Tefi had been carrying and she emptied the contents into her hand and gasped.

"Yes – the bracelets were taken from the arms of your two young brothers; the locks of hair from your mother and sister. I have them held prisoner."

Here I walked up to her, backing her up until she hit the wooden wall behind her and could go no further. She did not cower, but held her head high – no coward; Alexander spoke true when he said she had spirit – this spirit I had seen before, many years earlier, in Olympias.

"If Alexander does not walk out of this room tomorrow; if so much as a hair of my king's head is harmed I will have your brothers throats cut and their bodies impaled for the crows; your sister and mother I will have crucified, after my men have raped them. Do we understand each other?"

Her jaw was shaking with rage but she nodded.

"Tell me you understand!"

"Yes! I understand!"

"Good. Don't be so angry – you will be queen of the world and not married to some petty chieftain living in some hill fort. Think on that – and give my king a son. Whether you are happy or not is your problem."

I could see that my words had given her pause for thought. Alexander would be safe; to be absolutely sure I bent and removed the dagger she had hid anyway. Signalling to Tefi we headed for the door when her voice stopped us both.

"He will no longer need you, Hepaisteeon; why do you care if he lives or dies?"

"He is my king, Roxanne. I love him."

Slipping out the way we came I was in time to see Ptolemy and Maks escorting the groom to his wife; earlier I had asked him to relieve me of that particular burden and he had agreed. Sending Tefi off to give my own men a message I felt I had done all that I could and I recognised I needed sleep. Aiming for my own rooms I never got there as something hit the back of my head and it all went black.

I awoke to that wonderful sensation of someone kicking me in the ribs and liver. There's nothing quite like it. Trying to open my eyes I realised I was blindfolded but my ears were working fine and the insults raining down on me were spoken in Macedonian – at least the Sogdians had not been alerted that we knew of their plan; it was my fool countrymen doing this but why?

"Filthy Athenian whore! You made him do this – marry that barbarian bitch!"

_That_ voice I recognised and my blood chilled even as more blows hit me on the head, shoulders and abdomen; there were more than two men beating me to a pulp and their leader was a general no less. That was all he said and they finally stopped their attack, leaving me cold and in pain. I heard them walk away and gingerly lifted a hand to remove the blindfold then passed out.

When I regained consciousness I saw I was somewhere outside in an alley between two high buildings. Turning onto my back I could see the first rays of the dawn sun hitting the mountain cliff behind the Rock. Trying to push myself up elicited a cry of pain which brought help in the form of Ptolemy and Maks. Ptolemy clucked like an old hen but I asked them to get me to my rooms as quickly as possible, whilst checking that all was well; they said yes. Ty had kept Oxyartes company all night and the man had realised his plan had been foiled.

Back in my room they cleaned me up; I had had worse in battle and certainly during a boar hunt once in Macedon. The pain, however, made my tongue a little loose and I let them both know who had had me beaten up. Ptolemy was furious and was all for bringing charges immediately.

"No! We cannot show division in front of these people! Besides, it would shame Alexander – he needs the man too much."

Ptolemy was still adamant that this could not go unpunished – it was not the Macedonian way. I agreed but forced both men to swear they would tell no one; if they did I would deny it and stick to my story that I had gotten drunk and picked a fight with someone bigger than me. I would not cause humiliation to the King, now when he needed to have the army on his side more than ever. Ptolemy finally agreed and left me to take his shift as Guard on the King leaving me in Maks capable hands.

I had always found this man a comfort and a good friend ever since our talk at Siwah. He was so much more than a soldier, his intelligence a joy to me, somewhat starved of intelligent conversation when Alexander and Ptolemy were occupied – the rest were not my friends. Maks had no ambitions within this army; he was content enough to follow where Ty wanted to go and Ty wanted to be with us – for now. I had always had my suspicions their relationship was one similar to that between Alexander and myself but had never discussed it with either of them – they were not men who you would talk of such things to.

I felt that Maks and I had similar problems with our 'sole mates'; Ty was a man who acted first rather than thought it through – an instinctual person, much as my king was. So we had that much in common.

When Ptolemy left I lay down in Maks' arms and dozed awhile, his hands gently caressing me to sleep. I slept peacefully in his arms for some hours, feeling safe and cared for. What else happened between us that night, or morning, is not for these pages.

Alexander was furious the next day when he saw my bruises but accepted my story and went back to his 'loving' wife. The general in question looked at me with surprise and a little admiration; we would cross paths again.

It was soon after this that the first fruits of this wedding bore fruit – but not in a son; in a conspiracy to kill the king.

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

A/N Hephaestion, in this story, is suffering from typhoid fever; in the second and third weeks of the illness the patient has a very high fever, pulse weak but rapid. In the third week the diarrheoa starts, containing blood. If perforation of the bowel occurs in this week the prognosis is death. He is, therefore, dying, and so his memoir has to be rapid now.

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Chapter Nineteen

I found blood this morning in my movement; my fever is so high my pages jerk back from touching me as though I have burnt them. Alexander is here as often as he can so I can only write sporadically and I am so weak I can barely hold the stylus. So I must be brief…

The Pages plot was instigated by Callisthenes preaching his Athenian austerity against Alexander's wish to integrate his people. He found a fanatical follower in Hermolaus, a trouble maker ever since he had arrived from Macedon. Thinking himself slighted when rightly reprimanded for taking a boar before the king could strike, against all protocol, he let his mind spiral into hatred at the supposed attack on his honour and managed to persuade another five disaffected youngsters to join him. They were smart I'll give them that; they worked hard for a month to arrange for them all to be on the same night shift guard so they could assassinate Alexander when he came to bed; by now it was known throughout the camp that he was unlikely to be spending the night in the harem with his wife – he had found she had too much spirit. He had also realised how much like his mother she was, only too late.

But the gods were still with him that night; coming back to his tent after a party with another of the officers we were stopped by this crazy old Syrian seeress he had found who had given him correct prophesies in the past. Here she told us it was a bad omen to retire and to go back and celebrate; so we did. I didn't get him back to his tent until dawn. We found the relief guard on duty but the previous guard, including Hermolaus were still hanging round and Alexander thanked them for their diligence and gave each a present – then I got him to bed before shakily finding my own.

I was shaken awake by Perdiccas having barely closed my eyes.

"What?"

"There's been a plot against the King."

I was fully awake by the word plot and dressed in seconds, racing to his tent where I found him confronting a tearful page who was spilling his tale of treachery as quickly as he could – he had had a change of heart when Alexander had thanked them for their extra duty and had gone to his lover with the tale; the lover had dragged him straight to the King, who could barely be woken, to tell his tale. Names poured from him and they were all arrested – including Callisthenes.

The Pages were Macedonian and had the right of a trial. Here Hermolaus castigated his king as a tyrant and as an Asian lover who had abandoned the true philosophy of the Hellene – he was quoting Callisthenes practically word for word. He met his death heroically as did all the other five; the boy's confession did not save him though Alexander tried.

As to Callisthenes, well he was not Macedonian and had no automatic right to a trial. Craterus dealt with his torture to find out if Athens was involved, then he had him hung. I have no sympathy for the man: he used young, vulnerable minds to do his dirty work for him because he hadn't the back bone to try it himself. I wrote this to Aristotle who stopped corresponding with the king completely and me for about a year.

We moved into India with an army of 120, 000 men, mostly new levies which fell to my lot as Perdiccas and I took half the army, including the harem and Roxanne, through the pass of Kyber whilst Alexander protected our flank with lightening campaigns against the tribes. We reached the Indus which we proceeded to throw a pontoon bridge across in time for Alexander and Ptolemy to rejoin us. On the opposite side we took the allegiance of our first Indian king, Omphis of Taxila. He met us with a procession of huge war elephants that sent the horses crazy. The men weren't very keen on them either.

Omphis told us of a rival king, more powerful than himself, called Porus. Envoys were sent to get his allegiance but he refused. So we marched to the River Hydaspes to confront him; my pontoons were only good as rafts here as it was far too swift. It was raining non-stop, thunder and lightening mixed with it and the river was rising by the hour. I had never felt so depressed – wet and hot and lethargic.

Here Alexander conducted a campaign of bluff and counter bluff to keep the Indian guessing to his intentions. One moment we were stock piling supplies as if we were digging in; another time he had us marching up and down blowing war trumpets as if we would attack. Porus kept moving this way and that not sure where the attack would come from. In the night Alexander crossed the cavalry over the river, as well as most of the infantry, leaving Craterus with the reserve. We knew the horses would never attack the man's war elephants head on so we worked behind them, the Thracian mounted archers shooting the men off their huge backs before disappearing into the infantry ranks. Finally Porus came after us and that was when Craterus moved into attack with the reserve. The battle was won; but this man was no Darius – he didn't run but fought on bravely, his elephant being as courageous as himself. Finally he admitted defeat and surrendered to my King who accepted graciously and re-instated him in his province. He also made sure the elephant was well treated.

We moved on fighting tribe after tribe and for what? We were being used to settle their personal quarrels and the rain…gods, the rain!

Bucephalus died here and a grieving army came to pay him their last respects as Alexander founded another city naming it after him. Peritas had died a few weeks after the Pages incident – they had drugged him and he had never recovered fully. He had lost his dog and his horse and he was now about to come perilously close to losing his lover and his army as well.

I blame the rain. It seeped into our bones and very consciousness, sapping us of all logical thought; else I would never have gotten into that quarrel with Craterus. Ever since Cleitus' death he had been hounding me; he had hoped to get the Companion Cavalry command when Philotas' had been executed but he didn't. Then it was split into _hipparchies _and he didn't get one of those. He would never have gone up against Cleitus but once he was dead he saw me as his main obstacle to promotion to the highest rank because he felt I always came first with Alexander.

Alexander tried to calm him by saying Craterus was the King's friend and I Alexander's but the man did not like that at all. He belittled me, out of Alexander's hearing, all the time saying I was not fit to command and I only got my rank because I kept the king's bed warm. After the beating I had taken at the time of Alexander's wedding he had waited for me to whine to the king of what he had done, but the admiration I had seen for my forbearance soon turned to contempt.

We were making camp on some rain soaked plain, my men on one side, his on the other when he came over to complain of something. I had just lost Damon to a snake bite and was grieving quietly for him and this over grown thug was berating me over something inconsequential; my temper snapped and I told him what I had kept pent up for years to his face, at the top of my voice, in front of the men. He yelled back now, safe in the knowledge that I had shown myself the aggressor, as he had no doubt planned, and we found ourselves facing off with drawn swords, our men following our lead – it was going to be ugly and bloody except a furious whirlwind hit us in the form of a King in a murderous rage.

"What the Hades is going on here? Put up those swords NOW."

"My king," Craterus spoke up. "He began this for no reason…"

"Enough! I will not have my officers brawling in public like drunken mercenaries. I expect better of you. You especially Hephaestion!"

"Alexander I can…"

"I don't want to hear it. This bickering will stop now. If either of you start it again I will have the man who began it executed, whoever he is. As for you, Amyntoros, I didn't put you where you are for this kind of stupid display. Remember, you'd be nothing without me!"

He was right to castigate me for my foolish display and for letting Craterus play me so well. No king or military commander can allow his officers to cause such a breach in discipline, especially before the men. I understood the 'why, it was the 'how' that hurt. Those words are engraved on my soul and I will take them to the grave.

Craterus backed off but he had what he wanted – my humiliation in front of my men and his; as far as he was concerned Alexander had openly acknowledged what they had all being saying for years – I was nothing except what the king had made me. Later I heard Alexander had torn a strip off the big man as well, only in private.

He came to me too, in private, later that night as the thunder crashed and the lightening cracked the sky.

"Phai I had to do it. I'm sorry for the choice of words; they were the first that came to mind."

"Yes, Alexander, I know that – and that is what hurts; in anger we blurt out the truth…"

"No… you are a great officer…"

"I'm good at supplies and building bridges; those are not the accomplishments of a _real_ Macedonian soldier! You believe that as much as they do."

"Hephaestion, please…"

"I'm sorry for my actions today. I would never endanger your command, sire. But I can't forgive you yet, Alexander, for those words – you make me nothing!"

I turned from him. He put a hand on my shoulder which I did not shrug off but covered with my own briefly – but he knew I wanted him to leave. For the next few days we stayed politely distant. My men, however, rallied about me and made me know, in small ways – a gift of an apple; my sword being cleaned better than usual; a flagon of wine appearing without my ordering it – that they respected me and, dare I say, loved me a little? It comforted my heart until I could be the same with my king once more.

The one thing he did do was split Craterus and I up. He had, apparently, made it clear to the man that whatever he tried against me would not work – I had his trust and no Craterus could shake that. I genuinely believe the general finally accepted that in his heart as well and we never argued again. Having a death sentence hanging over your head helps a lot too.

Our quarrel was only the opening salvo in a building battle of discontent that spread through the army until it exploded in a sort of mutiny. Alexander had announced we were heading even further east to the Surrounding Ocean; between us and this fabled waterway were tribe upon tribe of Indians, prepared to fight to the death rather than submit to a foreign conqueror. The men were tired, home sick and very, very wet.

Like a lover they stamped their collective foot and refused to go on. Alexander talked, cajoled and then sulked for three days, (always Achilles) but to no avail: neither side were going to back down. So he did, grudgingly and not with a good grace. I was not there having been sent by him to found two cities and see to their construction. When he joined me I had three days of his raging against the men's ingratitude and lack of belief in his knowing what was best for them. They had hurt him in his heart as much as he had hurt me with his own words – it was the beginning of our reconciliation. Never again would we argue so or our souls be in torment for what the other had done. We had crossed some point in our relationship that strengthened it beyond breaking again.

His relationship with the army took a longer while to mend in the burning furnace of the Gedrosian Desert.

Before that we marched back up the Hydaspes and headed west, not north as the men had assumed. "Allow me to leave India, not bolt from it." He growled at the Officers and men who had queried why we were not heading back to Sogdia.

Craterus with part of the army went on to Carmenia; I took another part and marched five days ahead of the fleet which Alexander was with; Ptolemy brought up the rear with the remainder of the men another five days behind. Alexander was going to conduct lightening campaigns against the remaining disaffected tribes and Ptolemy and I were to 'catch' any that ran our way.

It was on one of these forays that the distance that had grown between Alexander and the men came dangerously apparent. I was not there but Perdiccas was, carrying the old shield of Achilles from Troy.

They had reached a small hill fort of a tribe called the Malli; their walls were easily climbed with scaling ladders but the men hung back. Alexander ran up the nearest ladder, followed by Perdiccas and two other officers until they reached the top of the wall. Looking back he was astonished to find no one else even ready to mount a ladder. So, in his usual manner, that is not thinking about it, he jumped down – _into_ the fort, alone; Perdiccas and the other two soon followed. Which is when the men realised he was alone in a fort of hostiles; they raced for the ladders, some breaking under the weight of numbers. By the time they got to the top and had jumped over, their king was down, as was one of the officers who had gone with him, being protected bravely by Perdiccas covering him with the shield – I was so grateful that day we had lugged the thing all the way from Troy with us.

He had been struck in the side by an arrow that had punctured his corselet and entered his lung, fighting on until he collapsed. Pulling him on to the shield the men carried him back over the wall to safety – then they went to work: grief, shame and anger built up their bloodlust to a pitch where nothing could survive, certainly not a small Indian tribe facing an army of furious Macedonians. The men believed he was dead.

He wasn't. The man has remarkable healing power, but he was in danger for many days as the physician sewed up lung, muscle and skin to stop the air from escaping. It was the worst wound he would ever receive to my knowledge and he has not fully recovered from it as I also know.

The rumours coming down to us at the base camp, where I had been joined by both Craterus and Ptolemy's forces, were desperate. He was dead they said. The body was being brought down by boat. I was unable to command myself let alone my men and Seleucus took over for me. Even Craterus said nothing but looked at me with sympathy and understanding. The men walked about me as if I was the corpse – which I was; if he was truly dead I did not know what I would do. My first instinct was to join him but then I had responsibilities to my men and his army; get them back to Babylon first, then I could go…

The shouts reached my ears first, so strange in a camp of mourning; they were coming from the troops lining the river bank and Ptolemy rushed into my tent to tell me he was coming, he was alive! My legs gave way and I sat, thankfully, on the bed. Ptolemy laughed and patted my shoulder before racing away to greet the king at the landing stage. Cheers and cries of joy were getting louder and louder until I thought my head would burst. Getting on my feet I went outside to the front of the command tent to look and there he was – mounted on a horse, waving to the men who touched the animals flanks, his foot, any part of him they could to be sure he was not a phantom come to taunt them; their tears were mirrored in his own. The lovers were together again.

Seeing me he halted the horse and, to my horror, dismounted and walked the remaining distance. He grasped outstretched hands and arms, kissed bearded old men on the cheek who came to him weeping like children; then he reached me and I saw the white about his mouth – he was barely holding together and I stopped myself from running to him and picking him up bodily. This was his moment. Slowly I came to him and offered my arm as naturally as a friend would for another. He took it and I felt his weight press down on it with full force. I got him to the tent entrance where, ever the performer, he turned one last time to look out upon a sea of faces; the other Staff had now reached us and we stood, once more, a united Macedonian army under their King, Alexander 'the greatest of them all' – for awhile at least.

Once inside and out of sight he dropped like a stone.

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

A/N This is VERY short, but last chapter is bigger.

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Chapter Twenty

I have given Ankhtefi instructions this day to destroy this writing now at my death. Alexander must not see it. It has been, in some strange way, a method to ease my conscience and make sense of my life before I leave it. At first I planned on its survival but so many painful memories have surfaced, private moments that I had to clarify which came unbidden to my mind as I wrote that this can no longer be.

The fever is burning me up and the blood in my stools is now a constant haemorrhage; I feel so tired…

We were to head into the Gedrosian Desert to support Nearchus' fleet as they sailed the coast to Carmenia, mapping it. Craterus had already left with the bulk of the army and the non-combatants, including Roxanne, through the easier northern route. Our job was to find supplies for the fleet and put down any resistance from local unallied tribes.

It was the worst campaign of my life and Alexander's biggest mistake, even failure. I hate deserts and that one in particular. It sucked the life out of you. I lost count of the dead, perhaps as many as a third of the army we took into that forsaken hole. One point we camped near a small river; in the night there was a flash flood that washed away many who had camped too close to its banks for the coolness.

After a few weeks Alexander had the officers dismount and walk the horses, those that were left, himself included though it had been barely three months since he had received that terrible wound. He would take no water other than the same ration we all took, even when scouts brought to him a tiny drop they had found on their march – he poured it as a libation to the gods. I believe he was punishing himself deliberately for bringing the men into this place – he had been so angry with them for forcing him to leave India and this, subconsciously, was his way of punishing them; but he had never intended this and I know he felt guilty for every death that occurred.

My mission on the march was to keep the rear watch but I spent as much time riding or walking back to the head of the column to check on him. I believe now that it was in doing this that my health was broken; when others rested at the hottest part of the day I was either trudging to him or from him – I lost three horses to it. Bagoas watched him night and day, ensuring he took the allotted ration and did not give it away. I was astonished at the boy's stamina and ability to stay with us – he had a purpose, and that was Alexander, and it kept him going as it did me.

I watched Alexander and I knew this was breaking his body, if not his spirit. That the fleet had also been destroyed was more than likely and he mourned for Nearchus as I did.

Finally we broke through and met Craterus and the others at Carmenia. Here there were abundant supplies and he handed these out to an army tempered into a new toughness by the Gedrosian.

We entered the capital in a Dionysiac procession, Alexander sitting with a number of friends upon a dais lashed firmly to two chariots; I had persuaded him that it was 'regal' and would look stunning, which it did – it also meant he wouldn't have to show that he hadn't the strength anymore to mount a horse. None of us had.

He handed out more rewards at the following seven day festival to all who had gone with him into the desert. Perdiccas was made a member of the Seven, the Royal Bodyguard, for his courage at Malli and his protection of the king there; I received a golden crown – simply for having been there; he was showing me more affection in public than he had ever done before and loading me with honours and gifts, uncaring how others reacted.

Then he received the best news possible: Nearchus was alive! And the fleet was intact – perhaps his libation in the desert had been received and his pray answered. It was joy indeed…

….gods, the pain is now so intense I can only gasp for air…

Harpolas finally proved himself a traitor by stealing seven hundred talents from the treasury and fleeing to Athens.

My promotion to Chiliarch confirmed my position, finally, as his second in command, despite the murmurings of a few; we were closer than we had ever been before, our love reaffirmed and strengthened by what we had gone through – I didn't care any longer what others thought.

He had not lost his dream of integration and at Susa the army saw the fruition of it – the mass weddings, not all voluntary. For me he fulfilled the dream he had set his heart on so many years before: we married sisters, Drypetis for me and Stateira for himself – now I was truly his blood, his brother. He had made my position unassailable…

…the room is darkening but yet I know it is still day…Tefi!...

It was also at Susa, during the games he put on in celebration of the weddings, that I had a furious row with Eumenes – over housing a flute player of all things! I was indeed tired but I had a massive wager on the flutist and wanted the best accommodation for him. Alexander did not execute me, simply shook his head in disbelief and told Eumenes to stop complaining.

Opis…mutiny…pain…I can no longer see the light…ALEXANDER!

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

A/N - The End - or is it?

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Chapter Twenty One - After Life – Addendum

The actual moment of death is fleeting. One moment I was fighting for breath, the next I was floating above my body looking down at myself – my eyes wide open, dull and lifeless. It had occurred so quickly I was still processing the fact and how it had come about.

That morning I had awoken feeling better for the first time in days; my fever was down and I was no longer sweating. In fact I felt so well I could argue with Alexander.

"Go. They're expecting you to give the prizes."

"I'll be gone less than an hour, maybe two, no more."

"I'll be fine."

"Glaucus will stay in call if you need him."

Once he had gone I wrote some more but my hand could no longer hold the stylus. I felt so hungry and dizzy that I thought a little food would help give me strength and start me on my recovery. So I called in Hero and ordered a small boiled chicken and a cup of wine. It was Ptolemy, to my surprise, who returned with the tray.

"Alexander told me you were finally feeling better. We had despaired of you. Here, drink this – it will help down the chicken."

I did not eat much and Ptolemy soon left to attend the games. At first the food seemed to help but about half an hour later my gut cramped in agony; getting steadily worse I tried to call out but no sound came out of my mouth and my throat felt it was on fire. In desperation I knocked the tray to the floor and this brought in Hero and Ankhtefi. One look at me and Hero was running out of the doctor in search of Glaucus whilst Ankhtefi pressed a cold cloth to my head as I was once more burning up. Hero returned a long while later, tears of rage in his eyes.

"He's gone to the theatre!"

"Go fetch the king, Hero." Ankhtefi ordered. "Do it NOW."

I could only nod in agreement and the boy ran out again. The pain was tearing me apart and I could not stop the screams from erupting, no matter how hard I tried. I was praying for one thing only, to hold on long enough until I could see him one more time – but I suddenly fell listless; the pain eased abruptly because I was no longer aware of my body in a physical sense. "Hurry, my Alexander. Please!"

I had prayed for naught – he did not come for my living eyes to look upon one last time. Floating near the ceiling I saw him burst in then stop in his tracks: slowly he walked to the bed and looked down at my body. Grabbing it by the shoulders he started to shake it insanely and then he screamed – gods, how he screamed!

"Phaistion! No! This can't be! Come back to me, my Phai – don't leave me!"

I tried to go to him, I tried with all my soul but the more he screamed the more I drifted away until a voice called from behind me.

"Hephaestion."

Turning I saw a bright, white light and I moved towards it without conscious effort…

I found myself in a white room facing a man dressed in white who smiled and told me to sit: doing as I was told I noticed I had no 'body' at all, I seemed to be made up of light.

"I've been reading some of your book – it has helped us a lot in your Judgement. Now a few last questions and it should be done."

He proceeded to question me on things that seemed insignificant to me – small things I had done as a child or as a page in training at Pella – but my answers appeared to satisfy him and he finally stopped, smiled and said:

"You've passed Judgement, Hephaestion Amyntoros. Congratulations."

I was a bit shocked and did not understand. "But where is the River?"

"The River?"

"The Styx – you do not seem to be Charon."

He laughed at that. "Oh, no I'm not him! But if you need a river then you'll find one on the other side of that door. Why don't you go take a look?"

I got up and drifted in the direction he had pointed out to a door that had not been there before. Opening it I stepped through and found I had a body again – legs, arms, and everything.

I was also looking at a river, not the dark slow moving waters of the Styx, but the crystal blue ones of the Nile. I saw boats drifting lazily along its length and the sound of laughter rose up to where I stood in wonder. Why was I in Egypt?

"Well you aren't really. This is the celestial Nile and you are in the Duat. Hello again Phai."

I swung about and saw the owner of the voice sitting on a rock next to Maks who was watching me with laughter in his eyes. Ty stood up and came over to lead me to a seat between them.

"When did you two die? I am dead, aren't I?"

"Oh, yes." Ty answered, a bit too cheerfully I thought. "You're dead alright. And Maks here has been dead over, what has been love? Over a thousand years?"

"Close to that." Maks replied.

"You were always dead, all the time I've known you? Who was that man who asked me all those questions?"

"That was Anubis." Ty told me.

" He was truly a god? But why was I being judged by an Egyptian god – I'm Greek."

"Ah, as to that – shall we say I have a bit of influence about here and I asked old Zeus if I could borrow you – and Alexander."

Maks rolled his eyes at that but smiled at me encouragingly.

"Alexander isn't dying – at least I hope not…"

Then the sound of raised voices behind us drew my attention to the door I had come through as Anubis came storming through it followed by – my Alexander. I caught my breath – he looked so young, as he had when we first crossed to Asia; did I also look as I had then? But why was he here?

"It's been eight months since you died, Phai." Maks whispered to me. "Time isn't the same here."

All I could give him was a quick nod before I ran over to my king; he turned from snarling at Anubis and saw me then we were in each others arms, half laughing half crying. It took some moments for us both to re-engage with the heated conversation going on between Ty and Anubis – if that man was a 'god' he was acting as I had never imagined one to be. Perhaps that was because he was Egyptian?

"It's breaking all the rules, Elder!" Anubis was yelling at Ty. "He is a Pharaoh, he should stay in the Royal Enclosure; they are never made Khepri and he shouldn't be allowed to leave the Duat, ever."

"Yes, yes – I know all that. But this is a special case. You can't have one without the other with these two and I need both."

"The Council will not agree…"

"They don't have to – I'm overruling them."

"Elder! Oh, I give up!" and Anubis stormed off back the way he came.

Ty laughed and clapping his hands, walked back over to us, putting an arm around each of our shoulders and, winking at Maks, said:

"Welcome to the After Life boys!"

The End?

**A/N – The Duat is the Ancient Egyptian 'heaven'; a perfect version of Egypt. They believed that once they had passed Judgement they would stay there, be young and healthy again, and enjoy eternity.**

**'Khepri' means many things; it is the name of the Sun god in his dawn manifestation; it also means, in Ancient Egyptian, to 'Become of oneself' – a human is made up of various parts: the body, the life force or Ka and the personality or Ba – if you pass judgement then these two forces unite and become an Akh, a being of pure energy. This can then be put back into the resurrected, mummified body (or Sah) and it becomes 'Khepri'. All of this is based on my studies of Ancient Egypt but the idea of 'Khepri' is my own though still based on their theology.**


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